I had a mate, a best mate
by Tobiko
Summary: Franky and Dean. They were supposed to be inseparable. Together forever. It didn't work out that way.
1. Pirate Ship

**Authors Note: Ok so this was meant to be a complete story, Franky and Dean's history end to end. But I've gotten SO attached to Dean's character (in part because I rp as Franky and Dean on Tumblr) that this is going to be a series of oneshots. They'll be sort of random, out of order chronologically and just be whatever I wrote at the time. So... yeah PX If that bugs you sorry!**

_"I had a mate. A best mate. Dean. But he went Young Offenders."_

Dean and I met in the foster system.

I ended up in the foster system when I was four. My parents weren't the greatest. And one day they decided never to pick me up from preschool. I waited with a teacher until five, three hours after school let out. Finally she drove me to the nearest police station. At nine thirty a sad looking officer came to the room I'd been settled in, set a mug of cocoa in front of me and informed me they couldn't locate my parents. My house was deserted. I blinked at him and, not sure what else I could say, I replied quietly, "Ok." I don't remember being very surprised.

When I was first put in the system it was easier to stay in homes longer. I wasn't difficult, had good manners, was smart. According to everyone I was an "old soul". Fosters liked me but never seemed to be able to keep me for long. Too many kids. They wanted to travel. I didn't match the furniture. Different reasons, a million reasons why I could never stay.

As you get older you're wanted less. Older kids are less malleable and more unpredictable. They're bigger and need more food. I started being more of a threat to other foster kids, started getting beaten up. I started wetting the bed. Suddenly I was becoming more of a problem.

There are two main ways foster kids grow up. One is they become loud and destructive. They demand the attention they have been deprived of. They act out and relish the punishment because they're _there_. Not just props in a house. They move things. They push and people push back. The other is that they withdraw into themselves. They try to shrink into the background, not call attention to themselves, not cause problems. They go silent. That one is me. It's how I reacted to it all.

Foster parents don't want a girl who doesn't talk and wets the bed every night. Who gets mysterious bruises. She's obviously hurting herself somehow. Throwing herself down stairs. Slamming her face into cabinet doors. Send her to a head doctor. If she doesn't talk just send her to a new home.

When I was eight and a half years old I got sent to my third home for the year. I'd decided to chop my hair off and when the last foster had tried to take the scissors away I'd accidentally driven one of the blades into the back of his hand. So they certainly didn't want to keep me. No one had taken me to a barber so when I arrived at the new home my hair hung in a choppy patchwork against my head. In one hand I held my garbage bag. In my other I had my Manikin.

The foster mum greeted me enthusiastically and tried to take my bag form me. I tugged it back to my chest and she backed off. "Francesca! We're so glad to have you!"

"I… prefer Franky," I mumbled.

"Alrighty! Sounds good to me Franky!" She moved to the side in the doorway and I went past her. The social worker who had driven me here started to whisper my various problems to the foster in what I think was an attempt at a quiet voice. I sat down on the edge of the sofa, feet firmly planted. I could stand quickly if I need.

A head bobbed around the corner. Hazel eyes and a mess of wavy dark brown hair disappeared again, then reappeared. A big smile split the boy's face and he sauntered over to plop down next to me. I leaned away and looked in the opposite direction. "New girl! Hey there."

I fiddled with the arms of my Manikin. I felt the boy shift a better distance from me and say, "One of those. I get it. I'm the opposite. Got too LOUD for people." He laughed. I turned my face to look at him out of the corner of my eye and a smile tugged at my lips.

"I like your hair." He reached over and tugged at a lock. That was another thing about loud ones, they sometimes forgot personal bubbles. I pushed his arm away and he tilted his head. "Oh, right. Sorry."

"I'm Dean by the way. Dean No-Last-Name! What about you?"

"….Franky. Franky… nothing either."

"Welcome Franks!"

Franks? Already so familiar. I tried to hide a smile. Dean could read people though so he saw it. It's a technique all foster kids pick up, they're in the system long enough. You had to be able to read situations in a flash, so that you could distract, diffuse tension, defend yourself at the drop of a hat. Dean patted me roughly on the back and said, "I really _do_ like your hair. Reminds me of a lion or somefink."

"…thanks. It's not exactly what I was going for."

"Keep it! It looks great!"

The fosters took me to the barber the next day. Dean hummed and hawed about it for ages. And he called me Lion for years later. I don't know exactly how it happened. First Rule of Foster Kids: Don't get attached. But Dean and I became close. Did everything together. Went everywhere together. Something clicked on, like a light in both of us. For the first time since entering foster care I started thinking of something as _mine_. Dean was mine and I was his.

Dean warned me off the bat that he'd probably be gone soon. He'd been their two months before I arrived. Something was bound to go wrong for him soon. But it didn't. For five whole months we lived in that house, together and positively inseparable. Dean swore it must have been because I was around that he behaved so well for so long. He wanted to stick around so we could be together.

But the day came when Dean broke a plate, and when the fosters scolded him he flipped out and started smashing everything he could get his hands on. I tried to stop him but he pushed me out of the way and I landed on my arse. That's when he froze and he helped me up. The fosters couldn't risk him hurting another kid (or the rest of their plates) so he was gone the next day. With barely a goodbye.

I literally shut down. I stopped talking, took to biting people when they got too close, started wetting the bed again (I'd stopped after a while when I was with Dean). I was moved from there as well, but no one thought to put me with Dean again. No one checked. I was just all of a sudden a problem again. I was sent to countless new places. Didn't speak, barely functioned. I'd lost the only thing I had besides my Manikin. He never left my side after that. I sewed pockets into all my clothes just above my heart so that I could feel him constantly.

Just after my tenth birthday I was playing with my flint on my current house's porch, setting fire to small leaves and the hair of all the dolls of one of the other foster kids in the house who had taken to ripping up any drawing of mine that she could find.

"Lion, what the fuck you doing?"

My head snapped up. Dean slouched in front of our stairs, hands in pockets and a smirk on his face. With a cry I leapt off the porch and into his arms. He was taller and stronger and he picked me up and gave a half spin. I buried my face in the nape of his neck and was surprised to find he smelled so _familiar_, as if I'd seen him just yesterday.

I finally detached myself and looked him up and down. He was a bit more gaunt than I remembered and he had shadows under his eyes. As if seeing something similar he let out a harsh laugh and said, "Geez Franks, anybody feed you this past year? I could feel your ribs through your t-shirt." I smiled happily up at him but didn't say anything. My throat felt like sandpaper. I hadn't said a word since his departure and my illused voice was refusing to work when I actually wanted it to. Dean frowned and said, "We back to this? Not too much talk? It's me Franky." I looked down and grabbed one of his hands. He sighed and nodded, understanding without words. "Ok. But I know you're happy to see me so there's that. I hope I get to hear your voice again soon you little loon." From him it wasn't an insult when he called me a loon. It was falling back into old habits.

"We'll never let this happen again OK? They wouldn't let me talk to you until they thought I was settled and by the time I was you were gone. And they wouldn't tell me where you were. It took AGES to befriend one of the Socials enough to get an address." A well of happiness made my cheeks tint pink. He looked for me? And then shame made me bite my lip. I hadn't looked for him. I'd given up. He shook his head. "Hey, don't be like that. It's you and me, the dream team back again. And nothing will ever get in the way of that."

How I wish that had been true.

About then the bitch who'd been ruining my drawings came out, saw us and called into the house that I was making out with a stranger. Dean being Dean yelled at her to fuck off and the ensuing fight made the fosters come out and ask Dean to leave. Before I could have my own meltdown Dean grabbed my hand and pressed a piece of paper into my palm. I tightened my fingers around it and when the fosters demanded I get back in the house I didn't argue. I went straight up to my room and unfolded the paper. Written in Dean's scrawl was his current address.

It took a few days to escape long enough to make the trip to Dean's new residence, and when I got there I already knew he was gone. Because recently carved into the doorframe was the message "Lion, pirate ship." No way would he have gotten away with that.

The pirate ship. It was this beat up fixture in this old playground near the center of town. We'd been taken there loads of times when we'd lived together. The other kids would spread out, running for the swings and slides but Dean and I would spend the whole trip on the pirate ship. Claim it as our own. Chase kids who got too close away.

I hopped onto the bus again and reached the ship around five in the afternoon. One kid and his dad were at the swings and everything else was deserted. I clambered up onto the pirate ship and dangled my legs over the helm, waiting.

I waited for hours. Sat there like a statue, Manikin in hands. The sky darkened and I stayed, refusing to move from that very spot until Dean arrived.

"There you are. I've been waiting for days."

I turned and grinned. Dean was climbing up onto the back of the ship. I swung my legs back over onto the deck and walked over to give him a hug. When we detached we sat down cross-legged facing each other and Dean launched into telling me what haad been going on in lis life. I listened with rapt attention to him, just to hear him talk.

Finally he said loudly, "Your turn!"

I bit my lip and paused. Dean poked my knee. "Come on! It's been too long since I've heard your voice! It's no fair!"

I cleared my throat and opened my mouth to tell him my own story. Instead what escaped was a choked, "I _missed_ you." And to my utter mortification I started to cry.

Without even asking my permission Dean knelt forward and grabbed me into a hug. And if it had been anyone else I would have freaked and tried to get them off. Instead I dug my fingers into his back, trying to pull him closer. All I wanted to do at that moment was absorb him into myself so that we could never be separated again.


	2. Run away with me

"Run away with me."

"What?"

"Run _away_ with me."

"You fucker."

My head was rested on Dean's chest and rose and fell with his every breath. This wasn't the first time he'd asked, wouldn't be thelast. We were close to twelve, lying on the deck of our pirate ship. I held a cigarette loosely between my lips, taking tiny puffs every few seconds and enjoying the burn in my throat. Mostly I ignored these requests, letting Dean run his imagination for hours until he burnt out. I'd sit in silence and nod ever once in a while to indicate that I was listening. And I always always did, extracting realistic pieces of Dean's tales and trying to make a whole story that would actually _work_. No scenario ever did.

Dean's voice took on that earnest edge, bordering on desperate as he wove a new tale, in this one he became a world-class pickpocket (that was one of his favorites) and I pretended to be older than I was and took nanny jobs because I loved taking care of babies and tots. I quite liked that one, but the problem of course was that I looked in no way older than my age, in fact I looked younger. I nodded at the cues, silent as always.

Suddenly my head was picked up off his chest and dropped so that it cracked on the ship deck. I hissed and bit back a yelp of pain, getting on my knees and turning to glare at him and clutching at the back of my head. "Fuck was _that_ for you prick?" I froze and instantly I removed the anger from my face, replacing it with the blank stare, the neutral safe look.

Dean's face was dark and his hands were balled up into shaking fists. He was suddenly furious, dangerous, possibly even to me (but he was more likely to storm off and beat up the first unfortunate kid he happend upon). "What," I asked in a monotone, head half bowed, making sure he knew I wasn't a threat. When he got like this his mind could play tricks on him, make him think that even I was an enemy. I'd gotten more than one pummeling for sudden movements when he was in this state, but I gave almost as good as I got anyway so there was never any need for apologies afterwards. Besides, he'd been the recipient of multiple freakouts on my end which would involve lots of scratching and sometimes trying to light him on fire in a panic.

Voice dripping venemously Dean growled," You'll never do it. You're a coward Franks. A liar. You promised, you and me, but you didn't _mean_it. You're just as bad as all of them only you've led me on longer." His eyes were dry but I heard sobs start to try to break through into his voice. "Fucking bitch."

I waited for a minute mulling over my options, watching him grow angrier. Finally I said, "When it's bad enough, we'll go. If it gets too bad and we _need_ to _or_ when we're old enough that we can actually survive. Whichever one of those comes first."

"Bad enough?" He spat, eyes blazing. "How much worse do you want it Franky? Worse than that one place that made me hold hot sauce in my mouth for swearing? Worse than that place where _you_ kept getting locked in closets? _Worse_ than-"

"Stop it," I said quietly, voice starting to quake. If he'd kept listing it would have gotten worse and worse until my head split open and everything inside of me was strangled. I wrapped my arms around myself and, perched on the balls of my feet, curled up into myself. Dean didn't move and we calmed down in our own ways. I counted my breathing until the blood in my ears quieted enough for me to hear. I looked at Dean and he'd settled cross-legged on the deck, digging his switchblade into the old warping wood. I uncurled myself and crawled closer to him. He looked at me and the anger was gone, leaving behind hurt. "Please," he pleaded. "Let's just go. I don't want it any worse. I'm already at my limit. Franky… something inside me is breaking more and… and I'm scared. I'm scared it'll… break completely if I don't do something."

I grabbed his hands and, sucking in my lips and biting down with all of my might, I scooted into his lap and rested my chin on one of his shoulders. He nestled onto mine and relaxed against me, for once safe.

But fear grabbed hold and I breathed into his ear, "We wait. We have to."

He went ridged against me but I held onto his hands, holding them fast against my chest. And I knew I had him. I'd trapped him here with me because I wasn't brave enough. Didn't trust in him, in us. Finally Dean relaxed again and in a defeated whisper said, "Always you and me?"

I sucked in a terrified scream because somehow I knew I had doomed him. Tied him to me selfishly, made him make a promise that would destroy him. I buried my face against his neck and my greedy heart that needed him made the final decision, making me speak the final curse word.

"Always."


	3. Leave him behind

(ok so this was GOING to be the ending of the story, back when I wrote it AGES ago before I even made Dean's account and made him a full character. Now that the Dean/Franky story is gonna be a huge bunch of oneshots and not have any definitive ending I'll post this now. :P I also wrote this way before the Summer Novel.)

Here's how it ends, the story of me and Dean. With no goodbyes, no hugs, no promises of seeing each other again. It was abrupt and violent and all my fault.

Last day of school Year 11. Everything was done, my GCSEs all over with. I was on my way home. Not to the pirate ship. After I was adopted I started going less. Jeff&Geoff worried and suddenly I didn't want them to. I… cared about them. So I started to go get shitfaced less, stopped the acts of mayhem. Dean hated it, thought I was abandoning him and changing. We still hung out almost every day and every weekend. But I started to care what happened to me, just a little bit. I stopped subconsciously trying to kill myself. On this day though the plan was to stop at the house to make sure Jeff&Geoff knew I was OK, pick up some of Jeff's celebratory cupcakes and head back out to celebrate in another way with Dean.

I guess the pricks from my school wanted to celebrate too.

Suddenly hands grabbed me from behind and pinned my arms behind my back. I bit my tongue to stop any sort of cries for help. Whatever this was it would only make them laugh and be rougher if I pleaded or made any sort of noise.

A girl from my school came around to face me, jeering down at me. I looked up long enough to recognize who it was and then looked down at the sidewalk. Blank slate. Don't give them anything to work with. Still the girl cackled and said, "Look at her, she fucking knows she deserves this." I tightened my hands into fists and dug my nails into my palms.

Don't panic don't panic. The person behind me forced me to my knees and the girl yanked my chin upwards. "Look at me dyke." I didn't, looking to the side and watching a little old lady walking a shaking fragile dog across the street. She saw us and made a face. She kept walking. Fuck you too.

The cap of a marker popped off and I closed my eyes tightly as felt tip met my face, leaving marks on my forehead and chin. "Open your eyes Frankenstein. You have to see this." My eyes stayed locked shut. With an impatient sigh the girl said, "John," and with a jerk my left arm was yanked upwards painfully. I couldn't stop my eyes flying open and the yelp of agony that escaped. And I was face to face with myself, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, the word FREAK written onto my forehead and a markered beard drawn onto my chin. I looked away quickly, refusing to acknowledge my prickling eyes.

"There, see? Now everyone can see what you really are. Of course it isn't like most people can't." She yanked my chin upwards again and spat in my face, "Your parents could."

I just looked at her dully. My insides were numb. I'd already turned myself off. It was like I was looking at her from under water. I was somewhere else in my head and my body was taking the abuse for me. I'd resurface in a few hours to lick my wounds and go get drunk with Dean.

A wig was forced onto my head- and even turned off I marveled at the absurdity of it, they'd taken the time to get a fucking wig to do this- and my arms were let go of long enough to pin me against a brick wall. Finally I could see that there were five of them, three girls and two boys. Cameras came out of pickets and I looked away. But I kept my eyes open to they wouldn't hit me. My Manikin hid somewhere in my bag for me, safe from all this. He called comfort into my head and made my teeth ease up on the insides of my cheeks.

Then an animalistic roar sounded and impossibly Dean was there, flying into one of the boys with murder in his eyes. It took a few moments but I finally blinked awake. No. No. Dean wasn't meant to see any of this, to know any of this. I'd never told him how bad it was, never ever let him know the humiliation of it all. How was he here? Like my fucking guardian angel. Like always.

His knuckles quickly started to come away bloody, the boy's nose already busted, probably broken. The girls fled but the other boys lingered doubtfully. He took a step forward but froze when we both saw the glint. Dean had pulled out his knife. The other boy fled as I rushed forward, screaming his name at the top of my lungs. Dean didn't even look up.

I jumped onto his back and wrestled away the knife, flinging as far away as I possibly could. I wrapped my arms around his neck, trying to pull him off. But he was lost to me. He couldn't see me, didn't even know I was there. He elbowed me in the gut and bucked me off, then stood and started to stomp on the boy.

I sat on my arse, watching Dean beat this kid into unconsciousness, and I knew he wouldn't stop until the red left his vision. And the boy could well be dead.

So I ran.

I stripped off the wig and threw in a bush. I hid around the corner, near enough that I could see the cops come, watched as Dean punched a cop in the face and took a baton to the skull. They didn't shoot him and that's why I'd stayed at all, to make sure they didn't kill him.

I went home.

I climbed up the drain pipe and into the bathroom on the second floor, washing and rewashing my face until the marker was mostly gone and my face was rubbed raw. Geoff knocked at the door and called in surprise that he hadn't heard me come in. I ignored him and he finally left. I went straight to my room and curled up under the covers.

Dean never dragged my name into the assault and none of the kids came forward and offered it either. The boy Dean beat woke up and kept his kips sealed as well. Don't Tattle was a foster kid rule but in general it was a regular kid rule too. Snitches were the bottom of the barrel.

I didn't visit Dean. It was my fault he was in there and I was so ashamed, I couldn't even face him. He didn't call either. And I know it was because he knew I needed space but a part of me insisted on believing it was because he was furious with me, ashamed of me too.

I started college and not a week in I was jumped after school. They tore off my clothes (which made me have a mini panic attack) and covered me in eggs and flower. Around my waist they tied a red dildo. My brain screamed for Dean, but I stayed quiet.

They took my clothes and I walked home shoeless and in only a wifebeater and boxers. Before I could shimmy up the drain pipe Jeff opened the front door and swooped down on me, confusion and horror in his eyes. I'd spent so much energy hiding the bullyiing from my dads but I was tired, too fucking tired and I didn't have Dean. When Geoff asked in his calm voice (that hitched for a second and made my heart clench) what had been happening I showed them the "Franky Ain't Got a Fanny". I managed to convince them not to call the cops. Four hours of rage and tears later and me sitting on the couch with a blank face, Geoff announced we were moving.

So we packed up and did.

I largely stopped talking. When we arrived in Bristol I was two weeks late for school but I refused to leave my new room until my nest was complete, so Geoff&Jeff let me hide for an extra week. I spent every waking moment putting my town back together, making it better, setting up my spin deck, my fabrics, everything. I needed it to feel safe. I didn't have Dean so my room had to be my perfect safe haven.

Finally, two days before my first day at Roundview, I picked up the phone and called the Oxford Care System main office. A bored secretary connected me to Helen, my old social. She tried to do the pleasantries but I stayed quiet until she shut up, and then said, "This is our new number. Give it to Dean when he gets out?"

There was silence on the other end. Then Helen said, "I don't think that's a good idea Francesca."

"What? …why?"

"Francesca you've been adopted. You're out."

"…so? Dean's my best friend."

"This is unhealthy. Let him go. Leave him behind."

She hung up.


	4. Scar

"Blood brothers!"

"Huh?"

Dean waved his recently obtained pen knife in my face. We sat cross-legged on the pirate ship deck. I didn't know how he'd gotten the knife, we were only nine, but I suspected that was the fight he'd gotten in at school the other day. He'd probably nicked it from some boyscout type. Dean's face was lit up happily as he repeated, "Blood brothers!"

"Dean, you repeating the same phrase won't make me understand it all of a sudden."

Dean laughed and before I could say a word he slicked his palm open and held it out to me.

"Dean!" I leaned backward and fell onto my back to get away from his hand which was now bleeding steadily. "What the fuck?"

"It's a best friend thing Lion! We give ourselves cuts and then mix our blood together! Hold hands so that some of my blood gets into your body and yours in mine, so that it's like we're blood related! That way we're like real siblings. And that means we'll always be family." Dean's voice rose as he spoke and his eyes grew more urgent. He wanted this connection badly, a need he couldn't quite understand. "Come on Lion! You and me!"

I grimaced at the sight of the blood pooling in his palm. "Sounds unsanitary," I said stiffly, unwilling to let him know that what it actually sounded like was painful more than anything. He'd cut open his hand.

"Please Franks?" Dean's lip wobbled the tiniest bit and his eyes flashed hurt before he tried to hide it with a bigger and harder grin. He was so terrified I would refuse him too.

"…ok," I said, because honestly there was never any way I'd have said anything else. This was Dean who was asking after all.

Dean nodded and I held out my trembling left hand. Dean took it lightly with his already bleeding hand and held the pen knife an inch above my skin. I clenched my teeth and watched the pen knife's blade glint in the sun.

"Lion." I kept staring at the blade. "Franky."

I looked up. Dean's hazel eyes locked on mine. "Franks. Look at me." I gulped and nodded. Dean gave me a look of concentration. "Only at me."

The knife bit into my palm and I scrunched up my face in pain. Immediately Dean grasped my bleeding hand with his. I felt my heartbeat in my palm. And suddenly I felt as if a second heartbeat accompanied mine, pumping new blood into my system. After a few seconds our hearts synced. I looked at our joined hands in wonderment, then up at Dean.

His eyes were on my face and it was the first time I ever saw that look. Like I was the only thing in his world. Like I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. My eyes misted and sudden warmth radiated from my heart to the tips of my fingers and toes. Dean's blood had hit my system and was warming me from the inside out.

Dean brought our clasped hands to his lips and kissed my knuckles. "Now you're mine. And I'm yours. We're part of one another. Blood related."

Family. He didn't say it. He didn't have to.

We didn't let go of each others hands for a long while. When we finally tried our hands stuck together painfully, then finally we were able to detach. The fosters saw our self inflicted wounds as we started to head home from our day in the park. They screamed at us all the way back to the house and when we got back Dean and I were grabbed by our collars and dragged upstairs. The woman scrubbed at our cuts with bars of soap and it stung, but I barely noticed as Dean and I made faces at each other behind her back. Because it didn't change anything. She couldn't scrub Dean's blood from out of my veins.

Soon the cut scabbed over, then eventually became a white scar slashed across my palm. Often when one of us would get upset the other would reach out their left hand. We would lock fingers and our scars would touch, and it would make all the bad drop away for a bit. I was irrevocably bonded to Dean and it meant that I would always have someone to tether me back down.

The scar is mostly faded now but I can see it as clear as day whenever I look at it. It means I'll always have Dean.


	5. Running

**Dean's POV**

"You better run you little bastard!"

I threw back my head and laughed, spinning for a second and running backwards to flip him the bird. I half tripped and faced forward again, unfazed. This was just right. My blood hummed in my veins as adrenaline crackled like electricity down my spine and through my nerves. I was alive. This was the conformation I routinely needed.

A scream cut through the air and I did trip this time, horror making me lose focus. Franks! She shrieked again and I could hear the panic in her tone. I got up and ran full tilt towards the noise.

Stupid stupid. Come to a mall on her second try at shoplifting? What were you thinking? Franks being Franks, when we'd run out of the store she'd outstripped me in seconds and had sped around the corner before I was five steps out the door. She must have run into someone.

I rounded the corner and my eyes immediately found her. A mall cop had her by the back of the shirt and was holding her off the ground with a disgusted look on his face. Franky kicked at the air and her cheeks were starting to blotch as her distress grew. "Let go of me!" She hollered.

"Settle down you rascal," the cop said sternly and he gave Franky a shake.

Seeing red I sprinted forward, ramming my head into his side. He let out a startled grunt and dropped Franky, who landed on her knees with an audible thump. I shook my head to clear it and rocketed to Franky's side, hand extended. Automatically she grabbed it and I yanked her up, lifting her off her feet for an instant before she landed and fell in stride. Soon she was the one in front of me, tugging me to go faster. Mall cops swarmed but we dodged each one in turn and slammed into the front doors with all our weight, falling out into the street and still running.

We kept running for almost half an hour, never breaking stride, still holding hands. I could have kept running forever. Suddenly I felt free, as if nothing could touch us. We were moving too fast.

But suddenly Franky halted, stopped dead in her tracks, and I collided with her and we fell to the ground in a heap. I got off her quickly and crawled a foot away. "What was that Franks?" Why did you stop us from running away?

Franky gave me one of her tired looks, face serious and pinched unhappily. "We had to stop sometime." She'd known exactly what I was thinking. That way that she always did. She stood up and reached a hand down to help me up. "Pirate ship?" Our safe haven. A place between where we were stuck and freedom.

"No Franks. Not today."

Her face cracked slightly behind the blank look and she half turned away. "Right. I'm gonna go. See you tomorrow." She walked away.

I watched her go and almost started to follow, but my stubborn nature made me stay put. When she was out of sight I turned and started to run again.

Wind pulled my curls out of my face and the beat of my feet against pavement felt good. I closed my eyes and kept going, not caring if I collided with anything.

I could keep running. I could keep going right now. Without her.

But I never would.

Finally I hit something, a fire hydrant in my path, and I fell to the ground, hands scraping against the cement. I opened my eyes a sliver and took in the raw red of my palms. I laughed and jabbed a finger into one of my palms.

It felt almost as good as the running.


	6. Pick your poison

**Author's note: I wrote this for my rp so I think Jal is mentioned in there once or twice. :P So it's supposed to be present day.**

When Franky had started to balk at the idea of going out with Dean like she had promised he hadn't argued, just picked her up and flung her over his shoulder as if she was a doll. She'd crowed in indignation but his replies of "A promise is a promise" eventually made her shut up. When they were out of the door and on street level, and Dean was sufficiently satisfied that Franky wouldn't bolt, he set her down and took a step back, beaming at her. "Franks," he started, a chuckle in his voice, "Did you know that your shoes are most of your weight when you have them on?" She punched his arm playfully. "No seriously! Those things are gigantic!" After a few minutes of laughter Dean pulled his pouch loose of his shirt and withdrew some of it's contents. A mix of pills all shapes and sizes. He held out the handful and said, "Pick your poison."

"…what are they?"

"You wouldn't have asked that question a few years ago. Just take some."

"I wouldn't have. But I don't hate my life now, so I'm not just throwing it about."

Dean's face fell and his voice cracked so slightly Franky only barely picked it up as he said, "You hated life when it was just you and me?"

"That's not what I meant Dean. And you know it. Don't turn this into being about us. Life was shit. We were the only good things about it. But we were trying to destroy ourselves."

"… I never would have let you destroy yourself…"

"And you could have stopped me?"

"With my last breath."

Franky flinched and looked away, then snatched a few pills from Dean's still outstretched palm and gulped them down dry. "There."

Dean nodded with satisfaction. "Good. Just loosen up Franky. That's what you need. You're replacing running around with holing up in your room with your art. How is that better?"

The drugs already starting to kick in, Franky furrowed her brown in confusion and shook her head. "I-it is… I don't know. I just, it's more healthy isn't it?"

"No."

"Oh."

Dean held out his flask and Franky took it without protest, swigging down a mouthful of burning liquid before coughing and handing the metal container back to Dean.

Everything started to blur at the edges and Franky grinned and tipped slightly to the side, squinting her eyes as if to get a better look at Dean. "Youuuu… you haven't changed a bit have you?"

Dean laughed and rolled his head backwards, closing his eyes. "Not really no. Neither have you. You've just decided to internally combust rather than externally." Franky nodded in agreement, eyes half closed. Then her eyes snapped open and she tried to turn her nod into a head shake. But it was too late. Dean was grinning at her merrily as if all of his beliefs had been confirmed.

They spent a few hours just outside the dorms, smoking spliff and drinking, talking about nothing in particular but communicating more in their own code than anyone could ever guess. Finally sure that they were fucked enough to do whatever he had planned Dean indicated that they should start walking.

Do what Dean wants tonight. That's what Jal said. And maybe it's good advice. Franky followed Dean as he weaved in and out of dark streets with no discernible path. Finally he halted and smiled that way that he did when he'd been struck by something. He turned to grin at her and she bit the inside of her cheek nervously. Dean grabbed her hand. "Trust, yeah?" Franky nodded and let him pull her towards a house that Dean eyeballed with interest. And then she realized. She tried to pull free.

"No. We can't."

"Come on Lion. Live a little."

"We aren't twelve anymore."

"Which means we'll be better at it, yeah?"

"This isn't even our town. And it's wrong."

Dean's hold on Franky's hand tightened and he scowled. "They'll be fine. Come on."

Do what Dean wants you to tonight.

Franky shrugged and Dean smirked. "Good." They moved around the house until they found the storm drain. He held out his hands expectantly. Knowing the cue, Franky fished out her Manikin from her pocket and handed it to him. He tucked it safely into one of his own pockets. Her Manikin never went with her on these particular missions. Dean knit his fingers together and made his hands into a basket. "Up you go Franks." Franky grabbed hold of the pipe and stepped into his hands and he boosted her up so that she could get a firm grip with her feet on the wall. She shimmied up the pipe to the nearest window and examined it closely. After a minute of examining she nodded and worked a bit of Franky magic. Her fingers knew exactly what to do still, even after years of not using these particular talents. Eventually the window eased open and she grabbed the sill and pulled herself into the house.

Delicately she landed on the inside of the house, taking care not to let her Creepers make too much noise. After a few seconds thought she bent over to untie them. She leaned back out the window to see Dean waiting for her to give an "Ok, head to the door." Before she did she tossed him her shoes. He caught them and gave her a thumbs up, disappearing around the corner of the house.

This was her part. Navigating a foreign house in the dark, quietly and carefully. On the way keeping an eye out for possible valuables and dangers. She crept out of the room she'd ended up in, a bathroom, and made her way out to the hall and down the stairs. When she got to the front door she opened it to a smirking Dean. "Knew you still had it in you," he whispered, "Now what'd you spot?"

They picked their way through the house meticulously, picking up small objects that looked to be valuable and stuffing their pockets. Satisfied Dean gave the nod and they went to the front of the house. After a moments pause Dean nodded at a bookcase that was close to the door. Franky gave him a sullen frown but he nodded again and she got on one side. With a heave they shoved the bookcase forward, sending it crashing to the ground. And they ran, blood pumping and adrenaline so high it was giving them both headaches. Dean grabbed Franky's hand and squeezed and despite feeling oddly numb inside Franky smiled at him and held on tight.

As they ran Franky searched idly for feelings of guilt or horror at what she'd just done again. All she could dredge up was an ache in her gut, requesting more alcohol.

She'd have to ask Dean to pass the flask when they stopped.


	7. Breathing

"She's teaching me how to breathe."

"How to breathe? Franks, I think you already know how to do that one."

I shook my head. "No… Like… you know how sometimes I get gaspy and can't breathe properly for a bit? When I'm freaking out?"

"Yeah," Dean shifted in discomfort. He absolutely hated it when I did that. When I'd start to hyperventilate he'd flutter about me in distress, hopelessly unsure of what to do.

"She's trying to make it so that won't happen. Or it'll happen less."

"..oh. Well… that's good."

The look on Dean's face was skeptical. As a rule he- we actually- didn't trust therapists. Thought they spewed a bunch of bull and were paid to do so. Both of us had suffered from being diagnosed with many disorders, from OCD (that one was mine) to being called a borderline sociopath (Dean's favorite of his diagnoses). From care home to care home they seemed to forget which therapist they sent us to, so our fosters would either take us to new ones if we started having "behavioral problems" or not take us at all. You learn to block out the different faces and different illnesses they say you have.

"But this one is different," I insist out loud, following my train of thought.

Dean picked it up without missing a beat. "What makes this head shrink different from all the others?"

I look at my hands as I say, "… she looked at me when we- she- talked, not at her pad. She didn't write much of anything down even. I didn't say anything, I haven't forgotten our rule about counselors, but she didn't try to make me say anything. The fosters freaked out a few days ago when I had a panic attack, which is why I got sent in the first place, so all she did was give me techniques to avoid them. She was… nice."

"They're getting craftier," Dean said with a chuckle. I punched his arm in annoyance.

"Fuck off! I like this one. She's not just in it for a check."

"Don't forget the rule Franks."

"I won't. I'm the one who made it up aren't I? You used to babble away to anyone about anything and it was always getting you in trouble."

"A'right! You've made your point. I'm the one who needed to be reigned in. You knew to keep quiet. About everything."

I looked away, because he was circling something I was not about to talk about. "Anyway, I'm not gonna tell her anything Dean. But if I can learn to work on my panic attacks and she doesn't press then it's a win-win situation."

Dean examined my face closely. Finally he said, "So how's she teachin' you to breathe then?"

"She said to take in a breath and hold it for five seconds, then breathe out for eight seconds. It slows your heart down or something. If it gets worse you breathe in and out longer."

Dean sucked in a deep breath and puffed out his cheeks comically. I felt a blush rise in my cheeks. He was teasing me. Instantly noticing my embarrassment Dean let out the air in his lungs and rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry Lion. I don't mean to make fun of it if you need it. I just don't like head shrinks is all… They try to shove pills down our throats when there's nothing wrong with us. We see the world right, it's everyone else who's messed."

"… well I think we're messed too Dean. Just not in the same way as everyone else."

Dean rolled his eyes and started to stomp his foot on the deck rhythmically. "At least we have reason to be. And I happen to think we're fucked up in a better way."

I sucked in air and held it for five seconds, trying to be discreet about it. Breathed out for eight. Then I said in a low voice, "We're not the same as them and it scares them."

"Exactly Franks! You got it!" Dean beamed at me and scooted closer. "We're different and they don't like it." The air around me grew warmer as his body heat grew closer. I smirked patronizingly as he leaned over and planted a kiss on my cheek. "It's you and me against this fucked up, boring world."

"If you say so Dean," I said in a light, mocking tone.

"I do," he declared confidently. He locked his arm around mine and pulled me close. I pretended to give an exasperated sigh. Dean raised an eyebrow mischievously and let go of my arm, then jumped on me and started to tickle me. "Say you agree with me Franks! Say it!" He crowed.

I squealed happily as he tickled me, trying to twist away from his flying hands. Soon I was gasping for air and I screamed, "Alright! You win, you win!"

Dean laughed and got off. I narrowed my eyes but couldn't stop the grin on my face from growing. "Cheeky bastard."

"Me in a nutshell."

We leaned our backs against one another and tried to catch our breaths. Suddenly his hand was on top of mine and he was lacing his fingers through mine. "Love you Franky."

The air left my lungs.

1,2,3,4,5.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8.

"Love you too Dean."

Breathe in. Breathe out.


	8. Winged

"What are you wearing?"

"Shut the fuck up Dean. I didn't choose it."

"Is that a- are those-"

"Dean!"

"Your fosters dressed you up like a fucking fairy!"

I scowled and hit him with the orange pail I held. "Not a fairy stupid. I'm an angel. It's Halloween, it's not that strange."

Dean bent over and clutched his sides, trying to hold in howls of laughter. I kicked him in the shin and he kicked me back, and we both hopped on one foot for a second. Finally he stood on two feet and placed his hands on his hips. "So how did they get you in that getup?"

I tugged the headband halo off and threw it to the ground. "Wouldn't let me leave the house without a costume."

Dean raised an eyebrow incredulously. "And them telling you you couldn't leave has stopped you before?"

"No. But they said I could sleep over at Stacey's house if I wanted when I went out."

"The fuck is Stacey?"

"Some bitch in my class. But for tonight Stacey is you."

"Atta girl Lion!"

"Help me get these wings off!" I tried to tug at my cardboard wings. "I think they tied them, those dicks."

"Wait, wait!"

"What?"

"Since you're in it, let's use it yeah?"

"Fuck you on about."

"Let's get some candy!"

"…now when you say 'candy', what drugs are we talking about?"

"The drugs that parents give their spoiled kids every day! Come on now Franks, free candy!"

"No way Dean. I've been out Trick-or-Treating exactly twice. And both times were horrible."

"But you've never been out with me before!" He picked up the headband and held it out. "Come on Franky! It could be fun!"

"… you're going to case houses aren't you? Look inside when they open up count valuables and hazards you can see."

Dean winked at me. "Free candy Franks."

My stomach churned in a mixture of discomfort and excitement. Conflicting emotions of guilt and a thirst for a challenge and an adrenaline rush battled it out for a few moments until I let a smile creep across my face. "Come on then Robin Hood."

"Steal from the rich and give to the poor!"

I took the headband back and put it on. "What about you? You don't have a costume or a bag."

"Course I have a costume! I'm the older brother who's pretending to be too old for Halloween but was forced by darling mum to take his angel sister out."

"Fucker."

"Now see, you're gonna have to do most of the acting here Franky. We're going for innocent and cute." I pounced on him and we wrestled on the pirate deck for a few minutes. Finally we pushed off each other and I straightened my dented wings. Dean came over and started to pat my hair back into less of a wild-child style. After a time he nodded his head. "There. You could be a fucking choir girl Lion!"

"I will thump you again, I don't care if it messes up my hair."

Dean slung an arm around my shoulders and we started out of the darkening playground and toward the bright lights of the real world.

We spent three and a half hours moving through the different streets, Dean slouched and sulky and I bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet and fluttering about with a big smile on my face. If we try we can be the best actors in the world. Usually we don't care enough to.

In all by the end of the Trick-or-Treating we had a pail full to the brim with sweets and seventeen houses Dean had pegged as good burglary targets. I agreed to nine of them. We pigged out on candy and spliff on the pirate ship until half passed two. Before we went back to hit the houses Dean pulled out a packet of powder. "Gotta be sharp Franks," he said as I sniffed up a hit. "Time to work."

We had to hit them all in one night, before the neighborhood could realize they were a target and bulk up security. We reached the first house at just before three. I handed Dean my Manikin and shimmied up the drainpipe easily. The window popped open obligingly and I swung my legs in and sat on the sill, then ducked my head under and moved to hop down onto the floor.

And was immediately stopped.

My wings snagged in the window, too tall to get through.

I tugged at them desperately but suddenly it was if they were made of steel and not flimsy cardboard. I put my knuckles to my mouth and started to bite down on them. Shit shit shit. I clawed at the strings attaching the wings to my back.

How stupid could I be to forget to take off the fucking wings?

I tried to twist sideways to get the wings at a diagonal but the wings still wouldn't fit. I was too fucked out of my mind to think rationally and thoughts started to rattle about in a distracting way.

Ok Franks. Calm down. Think. Just be calm.

With all my might I tugged. The strings dug into my shoulders painfully. I clenched my jaw and kept pulling.

Finally with a satisfying rip they pulled free and I pitched forward, tumbling onto the floor and hitting my chin against the thin carpeting so hard that instantly blood filled my mouth from where I'd bitten down on my tongue. I got up on my knees and covered my mouth with my hands so I wouldn't gag as I swallowed. It took me a few minutes to stop shaking. I was terrified someone had heard my disastrous entry. The family I was currently living with wasn't bad, but I never knew what to expect, not fully. Each new foster family reacted differently from situation to situation, and since I never stayed any one place for long I could never really fully gauge what different fosters would do.

They could easily turn nasty.

I put my head in my hands and tried to steady my breathing.

Finally satisfied no one had heard me, or if they had they hadn't registered it as anything odd, I stood and surveyed the office I'd ended up in. Instantly my eyes lit upon a pair of scissors and I scooped them up and snipped the wings off my back. They fluttered to the ground, horribly bent out of shape and torn.

Suddenly full of anger, drugs heightening my paranoia, I bent down and started to slash at the cardboard with the scissors, shredding the wings into strips. They'd endangered my safety, they'd tried to trap me, they were working against me.

I wasn't a girl who dressed up for Halloween and went out normally with friends and family. I could never be that kind of girl.

I gathered up the destroyed wings and threw them out the open window, then shut it tight. Dean wasn't at the drainpipe anymore. Usually he waited there until I gave an OK, but I'd taken too long. He probably saw me get caught in the window and had seen me fall in. I picked my way carefully down to the front door and opened it.

Immediately Dean burst through the door, wrapping me up in a hug. He leaned back and cupped my face in his hands. "I thought you might have got caught Lion!"

I shrugged and motioned for him to enter so we could start.

I didn't deserve angel wings anyway.


	9. Nightmare

"Fucking hell get her up!" A voice hissed harshly by my head and sharp fingernails dug into my arm and hauled me upward. My eyes shot open but before I could scream an hand clamped over my mouth. I was pulled out of my bed and half fell, but the girl's grip kept me upright. It took me a second to realize that one of my roommates was the one manhandling me, a girl named Keesha. My other roommate, Mega, wrinkled her nose and said sharply, "Ugh, she pissed herself again. How the fuck are we supposed to sleep if the little bitch keeps screamin' her head off in the middle of the night like a fucking baby."

So that's what it was. I'd had another nightmare and I'd woken them up. Keesha took the hand from my mouth and gave me a shake. "Oi! Little freak, you can't stay in our room if you keep doing this!"

I looked back toward my bed and saw the leg of my Manikin peeking out from under my pillow. I reached to grab him. Keesha's grip on my arm tightened and with her other hand she wrenched my face back and upward to look at her. "Franky. You hearing me?"

Keeping my voice low I said, "I'm really sorry. But I don't think you get to decide where I sleep? I have to sleep somewhere.."

Megan punched me in the side and I flinched. "Don't mean that after lights out we can't kick you out. So fucking inconsiderate, we need sleep!"

"I-… I don't mean to wake you up. Don't you think I'd rather not?" I said, surprising even myself. Just a few weeks ago I wouldn't have said a word, but since meeting Dean I'd started to speak more. Sometimes when I shouldn't have.

Suddenly Megan strode over to my bed and picked up my Manikin. "H-hey. Please… give him here?" I said quietly, trying to seem submissive. You have the control. I can see that now. Don't hurt him.

Megan held him by his leg. "What the fuck is it with you and this creepy thing?" I didn't say a word. Giving me a disgusted look she went to the door and opened it, then threw him as hard as she could at the hallway wall. Keesha let go of me and I stumbled free desperately, running after my Manikin. I knelt and scooped him up, then turned just in time to have the door slammed in my face. The lock slid into place.

I closed my eyes and clutched my Manikin to my chest. I was standing alone in a dark hallway, the back of my nightgown damp. It was humiliating.

I stayed there for a while, trying to hope that they'd open up and let me back in. But I couldn't even pretend to think that they would.

First I went to the fosters' bedroom door. I tried the knob but it was locked. So I went to the bathroom.

Locking the door I stripped off my clothes and piled them into the sink, running water onto them and washing them with soap. I cleaned myself up and considered wrapping a towel around myself since I couldn't very well put my wet nightgown and panties on, but my eyes instead found the foster mum's soft fleece robe resting on a hook. Only hesitating for a second I put it on. It dragged on the floor. She was a good foot and a half taller than me. I liked the feel of the fleece against my bare skin. Leaving my clothes draped on the hanger I'd taken the robe from to dry, I curled up in the bathtub and cocooned myself in the robe. I left the light on, hoping that maybe this could chase any nightmares away.

I fell asleep. A few hours or a few minutes may have passed, but next thing I knew I was woken up by a loud banging and a familiar voice keening, "Who's in there? I gotta pee!"

I got out of the tub and shuffled to the door. I opened it and sleepily rubbed at my eyes. "Dean?"

Dean removed his hands from where they were baled up at his crotch and said in astonishment, "Franks..? I was standin' out here for like, ten minutes, what are you doin' in there?"

"I-uh…"

Dean frowned. "… are you sleeping in there?" He asked suddenly. His eyes were serious and focused. Dean is and has always been smarter and more perceptive than he ever lets on.

I shrugged, avoiding his gaze.

Dean tilted his head and sighed. "You don't talk about things that bug you never, do ya?"

I looked him in the eyes and said tiredly, "No, not really. It doesn't do anything. Or makes things worse. So I don't see the point in talking about stuff that I don't even want to talk about when it won't do anything good Dean."

Dean pondered this for a moment, then nodded. "I can see what you mean Franks. I'm sorry it's like that."

"Me too."

"Can I get in to pee? Will you wait out here for me?"

Not really anywhere else I can go. I gave a quick nod.

Dean moved passed me and closed the door. I curled up in the hallway, resting my hose on my knees and wrapping my arms around my legs. Quickly Dean came back out. I gave him a stern look without saying a word, and he chucked and retreated back into the washroom to wash his hands. When I was satisfied he came back out and reached down a hand to help me up. I started to head back into the bathroom.

"Whoa, whoa, no way Lion. You ain't sleepin' in there."

"I'm locked out of my room."

"Fucking bitches. Why?"

I woke them up cuz I was yelling in my sleep."

"Nightmares again?"

"Nightmares as always."

"How come you have those so much anyway?"

"… this is one of those things Dean. That I don't talk about."

"Well, OK. But you're not sleeping on the toilet-"

"In the bathtub."

"You're aren't sleeping in the bathroom."

"I'm not sleeping in my room either apparently."

"Then come have my bed."

I froze, confused. Was Dean offering me… "Dean, I'm not kicking you out of your own bed."

"Fine, then we can share."

Immediately I took a step back. "No."

"Huh?"

"No. I don't want to sleep in your bed with you in it too."

"Why? Do I smell?"

"It's not that Dean."

Dean's eyes narrowed in concern. "…oh. Is something- are you- Franky I'm eight. I still think girls as a whole are icky. My balls haven't dropped and you're a sibling, not a girl."

"OK."

"You don't trust me."

"I don't trust anyone."

"Neither do I. No one but you."

"And you want my trust in return. Like paying you back."

"I've never given you a reason not to trust me."

"And that means I should just give it? Should this apply to everyone who's never given me a reason not to trust them?"

"No… but I'm your brother."

It was the first time he'd used the word. Dean smiled at me and put a hand on my head, ruffling my hair. "You're my sister Franky, yeah?"

"We're not permanent Dean. We can't be. We don't get to chose anything. Everything can be taken from us, you know that."

"I'll make sure we are. Permanent."

"How? You can't."

"Just leave it to me."

And for some reason I believed he could do it.

My turn.

"Fine. I'll share your bed with you. If you try anything dickhead, I'll set you on fire."

"That's the strangest threat I've ever heard Franks."

"Better fucking believe it."

"I do. You're a crazy little bitch."

"Too fucking right."

Dean grinned and took my hand. "Come on little fire bug. Bedtime."

We went back to the boys' room. Dean's bed was the bottom half of a bunk bed pushed against a wall. He gestured towards it, then asked, "You in first or me?" He knew to ask, that it was actually an important question for me. In first, trapped between a wall and Dean? In second, able to get out whenever I wanted but reachable by anyone else?

So the real question was if I trusted Dean or if I trusted all the other people in the house.

I went into the bed first. Dean scooted in after. I wrapped my hands around my Manikin and kicked the fleece robe past my ankles and around my feet to make sure it didn't ride up as I squirmed in my sleep. Dean put his head on the pillow next to mine, then after a pause moved so that our foreheads were almost touching. He put a hand over mine, yawned and closed his eyes.

I watched him fall asleep almost instantly, completely content. I laughed under my breath affectionately. It took me a little longer to fall asleep but I eventually did. I was safe with Dean.


	10. First Defense

I wasn't the one to pursue the relationship in the first few days of knowing Dean. But something about me must have intrigued him in the same way something about him made me comfortable. He sat next to me at meals, jabbering away in what I would come to know as "the Dean way". I didn't offer much about myself. Told him the story of how I'd gotten my Manikin (oblivious fosters, art store trip, etc) but other than that let him be the one to regale me with stories of old homes, school, former kids he'd had to deal with and so on. He was one of the loud ones so he had no qualms about listing all his grievances to me. Stuff he couldn't tell socials and that the other kids would just tell him to shut up about. I listened. I was the first person who ever had to Dean.

One day about a week and a half after I'd arrived we were in the boy's room coloring while everyone had gone out to the backyard to play. Dean was itching to go outside but he stayed in with me and indulged my need for a little space from the others. I hated the girls' room, all decked out in pink and frills. I bunked with two other girls. They were older and didn't hit but had made noise of disgust the first night when I'd wet the bed and gave me annoyed looks whenever I got into their vicinity.

"So how come you cut your hair?"

"Hmm?" I looked up and met Dean's curious gaze.

Dean picked idly at a scab on his arm. "You're a girl. Don't you like long poofy hair to put up in plaits and all that other girly stuff with ribbons and bows?"

I blushed and looked down at my drawing. "I uh…"

The scab came off and Dean flicked it onto the bed of a boy he didn't like, then licked at the wound. "How come you panicked when the foster grabbed you?"

Even worse. I ducked my head further downward. "… Don't like people surprising me."

Dean nodded in understanding at that one. "Yeah, I get that. Like, who gave you permission to grab me." I looked up and nodded vigorously. "Well at least you know that no one will touch you without your permission now." He joked.

I didn't say anything.

Dean read my face and the smile faded slightly, so he stood and swung his arms as if he needed to stretch. "So why'd you cut your hair?"

"Because it gives people one less thing to grab," I said truthfully.

Dean's eyes widened and he paused, then nodded his head curtly. I squirmed in discomfort. That was the most honest thing I'd said in years. Dean sat down close to me, too close for anyone else but already an acceptable distance for Dean, and he placed his hand on my head and ruffled my feathery hair. "Well, it looks good on you Lion." I smiled and leaned ever so slightly into his hand.

"Ewww, gonna make out with her now Dean?"

We turned to see two of the other boys walk in through the door, trampling dirt in from the backyard. I grimaced at their dirty appearance. I was more than fine getting dirty but they were coming into their room with the crap.

"No!" Dean retorted in annoyance. My mouth fell open slightly when I noticed Dean didn't bother to move away from me like most boys would in this situation. He wasn't going to denounce me to look good for the other boys. I think at this point he already thought of me as his.

"Whatever. Get the fuck out of our room Franky."

I stood abruptly and headed for the door. As I passed one of the boys stuck his grimy hands in my face with an obnoxious, "Blah!" I flinched away and the two boys started laughing at my jumpiness. I bit my lip in embarrassment.

"Hey!"

Suddenly the boy was on the floor and Dean stood over him, pulling his arms back to his sides. "Don't do that shit head!"

It was the first time Dean ever stood up for me. It was far from the last. But that moment was big. I was eight and a half years old and for the first time in my life someone had tried to protect me. The world dropped away and it was just Dean, my Dean, face fierce as he glared down at the boy. I was frozen in place, entranced by Dean and all he could mean.

Someone cared about me.

Dean stood firm as the boy got back on his feet and I backed up against the wall, out of the way. The boy was older and had an angry feral look on his face. The second boy plopped onto his bed and put his hands behind his head, smirking at the show.

Dean and the boy stood as if ready to pounce, trying to stare each other down. We all waited to see who would make the first move. Finally the boy's body relaxed and he walked passed Dean with only a quick punch to Dean's shoulder. Dean stuck out his tongue and came over to me. "Come on Franks!" He held out his hand with a smile.

I took it.


	11. Mermaid

"So any movie then?"

"Yeah. The adults want some time alone-" On cue various 'ews' and catcalls from all us kids, "-so they said pop in a movie and stay in the living room for two hours."

"Two hours?" One of the boys demands in indignation. "Can't we go outside then?"

"They don't want us unsupervised in the yard right now after a certain incident that occurred a few days ago."

"It was just a little fire!" Dean protested next to me. I giggled and pressed my cheek to his shoulder. I'd been trying to teach Dean how to light a fire with flint and a bush had ended up aflame. All the kids turned to glare at us.

"They're keeping us in for a bit. So let's take a vote on what we watch."

I perked up slightly, looking towards the shelf full of video tapes. Even though I'd been sat in front of a tv screen many times in my short life, a common tool used to take care of us when the adults got bored, strangely I hadn't seen a whole lot of Disney films. Mostly I'd seen cheap little cartoons on repeat, or just had the tv turned to Nickelodeon or the Disney channel (which didn't show their own classic films a whole lot it seemed). But this foster home had almost a complete collection of Disney VHS and I'd gotten to see more in two and a half months than I ever had before. But there was one movie in particular I was itching to see.

"How about The Little Mermaid?" I asked.

A groan went up from most of the boys and I shrunk back down slightly. "No way," one of the boys, Will, said boorishly. "Let's watch Terminator." I flinched and buried my face against Dean's arm. I hated movies like that. The fosters had their own collection of movies that they kept locked up, but most of the kids knew how to pick locks.

I blanched at the idea but didn't say anything because I knew I'd be overridden.

Next to me Dean sat taller and said, "I wanna watch The Little Mermaid too."

Will rolled his eyes. "Of course you do Dean. Franky wants it, you want it."

"Yeah, well she hasn't seen it."

"Oh my fucking God. Franky hasn't seen it! Call the fucking police, Dean's Franky hasn't seen a fucking movie," Will sarcastically sneered. I stuck out my tongue and pressed closer to Dean's side, snaking my arms around Dean's arm to hold him back from leaping up and getting into a fight with the bigger and older Will. Because it wasn't worth it to get into fights, this home was one of the better ones either of us had ever been in, and we were together here.

"Fuck it, let's just watch The Little Mermaid," Keesha growled from the other side of the couch. "You know Dean's gonna be a little dick about it if we don't. Plus I like that movie." She glowered down at Will, who was a good three years younger than her.

Will whispered with one of the other boys, then said, "Fine. But Terminator next time." Everyone nodded agreement and a big grin crossed my face.

The movie was popped into the VCR player and I cuddled closer to Dean, eyes locked on the screen.

I'm not positive, but I'm almost certain Dean watched me more than the movie.

The movie ended and we still had a good half our still stuck in the living room. Someone switched the television back over to regular channels, but I was still half in fantasy, imagining myself as a mermaid under the sea. I held out my legs and wiggled my toes, wondering what it would be like to have a fin instead.

Will noticed my antics and laughed. "What is it Franky, trying to morph into a mermaid? You have the hair for it!" I grinned and silently tugged at a lock of my hair, suddenly proud to be a redhead like Ariel. I'd hardly ever seen characters with red hair, and now here was one who was strong and brave, an actual heroine. True, my hair wasn't red like hers was, but whose hair was that bright red color anyway?

"And what, is Dean your Eric?"

In alarm Dean and I looked at each other, then simultaneously made faces of disgust. "No fucking way!" Dean protested in distaste and I shook my head hard. "I'll be Flounder!" Dean sucked in his cheeks and made a fish face at me, leaning in and teasing my by threatening to give me a slobbery kiss on my cheek. I squealed and jumped off the couch, pumping my arms as if I was swimming away as I ran. Dean chased me around the living room and when he finally caught me he lifted me off my feet and gave me a half-spin.

"You two are gross!" Will called over to us.

At the same time Dean and I raised our middle fingers to Will and flipped him off. We laughed and I turned back to Dean, teasing him lightly," So you're my Flounder?"

Dean nodded. "Yup! Even if you grow legs and start walkin' on land I'll hang out on the beach waiting for you."

I blushed and kissed his cheek affectionately. "I won't grown legs and leave you in the sea Dean."

"Promise?"

"Promise."


	12. Endings

I was coming in late from a night with Dean, climbing in through the window above the kitchen sink because the family always locked the back door, when I heard it. The choked mule of a tired and upset baby. Immediately all my senses went on red alert. This family didn't have a baby, not when I'd left for school this morning anyway. I took off my shoes and stuffed them in my backpack, resting my stockinged feet on the sleek linoleum floor. I crept to the kitchen door and looked out into the hallway, where I could hear the baby fussing and two hushed voices speaking to one another.

"-so sorry for this at such a late hour."

"No, no, it's fine. And they just gave her back?"

My throat tightened and my fingers flew to my pockets, desperate to find my Manikin so I could stabilize and not start to have a breakdown.

"Oh no! _We_ had to take her back."

….what?

"It was terrible, those poor people. But we have to find her a new family because they won't be able to afford her."

"What? Didn't the agency check their financials?"

"We did. It's a terrible misfortune, what's happened. When they took her to her one month checkup the doctor noticed an abnormality in her bloodwork so they ran some tests. And it turns out she has a very rare disease that will cost a lot of money over her lifetime, and they just didn't have the money to afford to take care of her. So we have to find a family who will be able to."

"That poor couple. Having her for so long just to have her taken away."

"There's nothing we could do. It's policy, a couple has to be able to medically afford the child that they adopted. Obviously if the child was with them for many years we wouldn't be able to do this but there's a grace period for these matters and they fell short of her being officially theirs."

I clutched the doorframe as tightly as I could and pressed my forehead against the wall.

"They badly wanted to keep her, but we couldn't let them."

I ground my teeth together and closed my eyes.

They'd taken a baby from her loving home and stuck her in the system.

They'd decided that ruining her life was better than letting her be happy with people who already loved her. Who probably would have taken second and third jobs to keep her. People wait years and years to adopt babies. It's why we never get them for long. But this baby needed special care. Who would be able to afford her? Who would even want her? She'd be trapped in the foster system for the rest of her life.

They should have let her just die happy.

The foster mum took the baby, assuring the social that they had a nursery all set up. And they did, I'd seen it in my explorations, used it as a quiet room to get away from the other kids. And they weren't a bad family, they'd do a good job with her. But… she'd eventually be moved. Then again. And again. To worse homes. And she'd grow and things would go bad.

The system had doomed her.

Suddenly I had an idea. And the drugs in my system told me it was a brilliant one.

I waited until the foster settled the baby in, crooning words of comfort to get her to sleep. It took almost an hour, and then she went back into her bedroom and closed the door.

I stole into the baby's room. Little No Name. Had the social even mentioned her name? They so often forgot to, there were too many kids for them to remember. But at least most of us knew our names, could repeat them to ourselves to remind ourselves we had an identity. But this little girl had been stripped of her identity. She was just a baby who'd been ripped from people who loved her.

From the fully socked drawers of baby clothes I extracted all the warm clothing I could find to protect her from the biting Oxford night air. Slowly, gently, I started to place clothing on her. She stirred sleepily but faded back into slumber, the stress of the day having knocked her out. Soon she was bundled up even with a little knit hat. I picked her up and cuddled her tight to me with one arm, then with my other picked up the blanket in her crib and tied her tightly to me so that if I needed to I could use my arms. As if knowing how important it was to be quiet she slumbered on, making occasional baby snuffles against my chest.

Quickly I went to my room and I dumped my books on my bed, stuffing my backpack with all my worldly possessions, of which there weren't many. Down the stairs and out the back window, I slipped on my shoes and was running. I had it in my mind that I needed to take her back, back to that home where she was wanted and loved. I would somehow find them and give her back. Save her.

I ended up at the pirate ship. It was the middle of the night and I had no idea where to actually go. I sat on the deck, shivering, arms wrapped around the warm, perfect bundle of life against me. She slept soundly despite the cold nipping at her bare skin. She trusted me, the person who held her. Her innocent little soul didn't know how to distrust yet. I curled around her and felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

We're supposed to protect babies. They're so little, so vulnerable. So precious. They have infinite possibilities. Nothing has touched them and if we try nothing will. we can make a more perfect world if we just take _care_ of them. That's my idea of babies anyway.

The drugs started to wear off, leaving behind me in a panic. I couldn't go back to the house, not after stealing a baby. I'd get shipped off to an all girls boarding school to get rid of me. Put there to rot, trapped and away from my Dean.

Dean. He'd know what to do.

We never went to each others houses, but in case of emergencies always gave each other our new addresses. I started the trek to Dean's current house.

When I got there I went 'round back and started counting windows, finding the one Dean had indicated to be his and, finding a handful of rocks, started to chuck them at the glass. Eventually the curtains pulled back and Dean's hazel eyes peered out questioningly into the darkness. I saw him mouth, "Lion?" in surprise, then his head whipped around in alarm and he turned back to me, eyes wide in shock. He motioned for me to make a break for it and without question I turned to bolt, but a burly man with sleepy eyes in only his boxers and a white t-shirt was emerging from the back door in confusion. Fear immediately tore through my heart and I started to run, but before I could get more than five feet a hand had grabbed the back of my collar. I went limp, afraid that if I struggled I'd hurt the baby.

More gently than I expected the man guided me back into the house and into his living room, where his wife and Dean were already waiting. Dean rushed forward and gathered me into a hug, whispering as many questions into my ear as he could manage before the fosters pried us apart and sat us both down. Dean gave his fosters lethal glares of warning as I curled around the still sleeping baby.

"So you're the infamous Franky. We were warned about you when Dean was placed here." I looked up in shock. The foster mum was smiling softly at me, and her voice was teasing, not mad. Dean and I exchanged a look. At this point, neither of us thought anyone paid attention to us at all, least of all the fosters and the socials. The lady smirked slightly, "Ahhh, didn't think we knew about you, did you? Apparently you two come with little warnings every time you go to a new house, that you two are inseparable and quite the pair."

I scooted closer to Dean and he wrapped an arm around me and stared at them defiantly.

"Well, I'm Sophia and this is Derek. We're Dean's foster parents."

"Current foster parents," Dean growled.

Sophia's eyes sparkled mischievously and she said back, "So you keep reminding us."

Derek looked far more upset by the whole situation and butted in then, demanding, "What are you doing with a baby you daft girl?"

I flinched and Dean half stood in rage, growling in the back of his throat. Sophia shot Derek a sharp look and shook her head. She turned back to me, eyes strangely kind. "Franky, why are you here in the middle of the night with a baby?"

I stayed quiet, nose perched on the crown of the baby's head.

We sat there in silence for a while until Sophia realized I wasn't going to speak. Sophia turned to Derek and motioned for him to go into the kitchen and put on some tea. After he left, Sophia stood and knelt in front of me. I leaned back further into the couch's cushions, eying her warily. She looked me straight in the eye. "Franky, I understand that you and Dean have been through some truly horrendous things." I sucked in my breath and tightened my hold on the baby. "And I know from reading up on you and Dean, you're not bad kids. You're managing with what you've been given. So I know there's a reason you're here at two in the morning with a baby."

I bit my lip, then turned to Dean doubtfully. In fifteen minutes Sophia had acted a better mum than any foster I'd ever had. Dean shrugged, naturally more suspicious than me. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and in a low voice told her what I'd overheard.

When I got to why I'd stolen the baby I started to cry, explaining helplessly about how I needed to protect her from the foster system. Dean stiffened beside me and when I chanced a glance at him he stared at me in confusion, as if he didn't recognize me. We so rarely talked about things that upset us, we didn't cry. Tears started to form in his eyes at my distress. I had scared him. When I finished speaking I leaned my cheek on Dean's shoulder and he kissed the top of my head.

Sophia nodded in understanding and I could barely comprehend it. She was listening to me. She wasn't yelling at me, wasn't only half listening, wasn't hitting me. Her interest in what I had to say was almost scarier than if she'd just stood and slapped me right then and there. After I finished she sat thinking about what I'd told her. Finally she said, "Franky, you can stay here and in the morning I'll drive you home and I'll explain the entire situation to your foster family."

"No!" Dean and I said at once. The baby woke with a start and began to whimper against me. For a minute I was absorbed in comforting her, and when she finally quieted I turned back to Sophia. "You can't do that."

"You said this family was a good one? They wouldn't punish you Franky."

"But this would be just another thing to add to my file."

Sophia pursed her lips and the look on her face made me think that she might understand our situation more than I would ever guess. She stood and went into the kitchen and she and her husband carried on a quick conversation. Derek's voice rose in alarm but Sophia calmed him. She came back into the living room. "Alright. I'll drive you back home right now, and you can sneak back in and put the baby back. No one has to know this happened except for the four of us. But you have to promise me you'll stay put. I'll see what I can do about the baby."

Dean and I looked at each other in disbelief. No one did this for us, not ever. No one stuck their necks out for us. Yet this woman, this foster mum, was doing this for me. For us. I could barely believe it. Dean and I nodded. He insisted on riding with us when we drove back to my house. I gave them a wave and climbed back into the window, put the baby back into her crib and took off the winter clothes, then went into my room and crashed.

I didn't hear from Sophia after that, but a few week later the family the baby had been taken from got her back. The dad had gotten a raise after pleading his case to his boss and the mum picked up a second job with the help of a friend, who I found out later from Dean was Sophia.

The baby, Mary, got her happy ending.

Sophia got sick with some terminal illness a few months later and she and Derek had to give back their kids. They moved to some place warm.

Dean and I didn't get the happy ending. Not then anyway.


	13. Sleepwalking

Will McEvan was a sleepwalker.

We hated him. Or not hated precisely, because I try not to hate anyone and Dean hates _everyone_, but there was something about Will that rubbed us both the wrong way. He was cocky, he was mean, and more than that, more than _any of that_ he had a mum. And I think that's what we hated, more than anything. He hadn't been abandoned. His mum loved him and was trying to get him back.

His mum was a crack addict or something, he never actually said of course because he always talked about her like she was perfect. Social services had removed Will from her care. Placed him in the foster system until his mum either got her act together or… or nothing. He wasn't about to let anyone adopt him when he had a mum he adored vying for custody. He'd stay in foster care. Waiting.

Still, Dean and I were jealous of him. Insanely jealous. Because he had a mum who loved him in her own way. Who fought to keep him. Even though whenever she came to visit she always had hooded and bloodshot eyes. Even though he had cigarette burns peppering his arms. Even with all that, he was loved and we weren't.

Dean didn't find out he was a sleepwalker for a while, cuz he usually slept through Will getting out of bed and walkin' around and would always assume that he'd gotten up early or somethin'. Dean only found out Will was a sleepwalker one night when I'd scurried into his room in the middle of the night and slept in his bed. We were awake to see Will stumble free of his entangled sheets and leave the room. At first we didn't realize he was asleep, we just thought he was getting up to go to the bathroom. But his movements were funny and when he tripped over a shoe on the floor he didn't catch himself proper and went crashing to the floor.

He rose with a jerk and scrambled to his feet. Hurriedly he went back into his bed. I was the one who figured it out, because I paid attention then, out of curiosity. I slept in Dean's bed more nights than I slept in my own, creeping back into my room early in the morning so we wouldn't get caught. Because even though it was completely innocent, most people wouldn't believe that. So I started to watch.

Will would get up at the same general time every night. He'd walk to the bedroom door, open it and go downstairs. At first I wouldn't follow him, but then I started to and then started taking Dean as well. He'd mill about the house doing nothing in particular, then go out into the yard and fall asleep in the grass.

One day he woke up to see Dean and I sitting on the porch steps and watching him. He lurched to his feet and without even a word made a beeline for us and punched Dean in the face. As Dean recovered, Will leaned over me and snarled, "Like the fucking show you little freak?" He made a motion to grab at me and I cowered away reflexively. Will let out a cruel laugh and went back inside.

I suppose that's when we decided to do it.

When I questioned whether we were afraid that he'd get hurt, Dean had laughed wickedly and said, "Well his mum can come and kiss his boo boo better, yeah?"

And I couldn't help but laugh too.

It wasn't a huge prank, just a lets-get-even kinda thing. The family had an inflatable pool that we filled with water and put at the foot of the porch steps, where we knew he'd fall in. And we waited for him to emerge, sitting and talking quietly on the porch railing for a few hours in anticipation.

Will came out and shuffled to the stairs and Dean and I stiffled giggles. Finally his foot slipped in and he fell face forward into the water. Dean and I fell onto the porch in a fit of laughter, clutching at each other in a rush of euphoria. Finally, Will had gotten his comeuppance.

Will resurfaced with a shriek, gasping for air. Dean and I both froze as he raised his arms in defense and screwed his eyes shut, shouting helplessly, "I'm _sorry_, I'm _sorry_!" But he wasn't saying it to us.

The burns on his arms were dark in the moonlight.

Dean and I turned and ran back into the house without another word, completely silent. And we never talked about it again.

And we didn't feel jealous of Will anymore.


	14. Grave

Graveyards aren't scary. Not to me anyway. They're more symbolic than anything. Everyone in a graveyard is dead. And death isn't scary. It's just what happens.

I chased death around a lot when I was younger. But that's a whole other story. Or group of stories maybe…

Dean and I spent a good thirty percent of the roughly four years we spent running wild together outside of our houses at night. Foster homes meant being trapped, being out of control of our lives. We were never in control exactly, even when we were out at night, because that's one of the things being in the foster system takes from you. You can't choose to not be uprooted from wherever you are. They can have you pack your garbage bag at any given time.

So we'd spend a lot of nights out, trying to feel as if we were in control. It generally involved a lot of drugs too, supplies that Dean eventually became an absolute expert at obtaining. More often than not we were lazy about actually getting into trouble while on drugs. That started happening more when we were twelve and thirteen. When we were ten and eleven, we mostly just hung around the playground in the middle of the night, on the deck of the pirate ship or on the swings or the jungle gym. We'd only venture past the playground if we were sure that there wouldn't be any _people_ to come grab us where we went, because at that point our biggest fear was getting caught and sent back to our current carers. It was always like a coin toss with fosters.

One place we loved to go in the middle of the night: graveyards. Sure they have groundskeepers but mostly people don't hang out in graveyards in the middle of the night. People are ridiculously scared of them even in the middle of the day, so at night the fear is amped up even more. But Dean wasn't afraid because Dean is Dean, he isn't scared of things easily. And I wasn't afraid because it's not like dead people pose a threat. And sure, in some ways I can get scared of the dark, but that's more of an inside a building kind of thing. At night out in the moonlight darkness isn't so scary. There's a lot more maneuverability outside.

Graveyards are lovely places honestly. They're always well kept (because apparently there's less of a chance of zombies attacking if the grass is cut and watered. or that could be the 'symbolic' thing about graveyards again, I was never quite sure). People leave flowers by the grave, or rocks on top, and all recent graves are kept nice and polished if they have family who come to visit. The older ones have moss sometimes and have pretty designs or no designs at all. The angels I never liked much because they always made me think that's what the family's wanted me to picture when I thought of their dead relative. Like a beautiful angel or a cherub for the babies (which were my LEAST favorite). I liked having a plain headstone to look at. Then I could imagine what the person looked like with a blank slate.

Dean didn't like the graveyards as much as I did, but he's always willing to do what I want to do if that means that I'll do what he wants to do. So we'd go to the graveyards and roll down the hills if they had them and we'd make up stories for the residents of the graveyard and we'd just generally appreciate the very pristine places, because graveyards are so often neglected by visitors out of fear or lack of interest.

Sometimes in the middle of the night we'd find open graves that had been dug for a funeral the next day. Their depth would always vary slightly, but graves tend to be pretty deep. So that the plots can be used again, you see. I'm not sure of dates and whatnot, but people are buried over people. There are too many people who have lived to make allowances. I mean, I guess famous people get to keep their graves past their expiration date, but for ordinary folk after a while they get replaced. But who cares really, they're _long_ dead. If you want something to last past you dying, a grave isn't the thing to choose. We'd always take note of the open graves because they were deep and we were tiny and the first time we saw one we both ran out of the graveyard and didn't go back to one for a few months.

We weren't scared of the dead rising or anything silly like that. We were afraid of falling in and being _trapped_. Buried alive.

But we got bolder around them and we got cocky as people tend to do when they think they've mastered an environment or an activity. But the truth is that you can't ever truly _master_ something, especially not when you're a kid.

So we were rolling down a hill one night, racing to get to the bottom. I was winning, far in the lead when suddenly the world dropped away and I was plummeting into darkness. I hit the dirt hard, a good seven feet down. When I'd felt myself falling I'd bitten down on my lip so hard that I bit through it, tasting blood and preventing myself from screaming. So, unaware of the danger, Dean tumbled over the edge and on top of me. It took a minute for both of us to fill our lungs with air again. And there we were.

Trapped in a grave.

First thing Dean did, the first thing Dean _always_ does, was check me over. We could barely see each other, only our rough outlines, but Dean felt me over frantically like a mother hen. He felt the blood gushing from my lip and when he touched my right ankle I let out a hiss of pain. I could hear the wobbly horror in his voice as he said, "I'll get us out. I _will_."

The first thing we tried was Dean hoisting me up onto his shoulders, but with my ankle wrecked I tried to balance on my other leg, which didn't work in trying to climb out of a hole. We ended up falling in again. The next thing Dean tried was to climb up by digging his hands and feet into the walls, which resulted in dirt falling into our faces and hair. Dean stopped when I had crawled to the farthest corner and covered my head with my arms and started to shake in terror. He was burying us alive.

Dean came over to me and wrapped his arms around me in an attempt at comfort. He put his forehead to mine. He was trying to be the strong one but I knew he was just as terrified as I was. Still, _knowing_ that he was as scared as me was actually more comforting than if he was the bravest person in the world.

We were stuck in that grave for hours. We spent the time telling each other stories and drawing pictures on each others hands with our fingers, anything to distract us from the fact that we were _in a grave._ By the time the sun came up, we were almost calm. Almost. But the sun did help, it meant that someone was more likely to see us.

The groundkeeper found us at about 9:30. He lowered a ladder and we scrambled up, and then before he could grab us and take our names we were out of there, running out of the graveyard as fast as we could. I went home to screaming fosters and had to get stitches for my lip and crutches for a sprained ankle.

We went back a few months later to see who was buried where we'd been trapped. By then the headstone was in place. The name on the headstone was _Ingrid Terefanio_. She was 56 years old when she died. From then on I used that as a fake name.

We didn't stop going to graveyards though. We weren't too scared, in fact looking back on the event we laughed about it. We were just more careful.


	15. Knight's Tale

** Sorry it's taken so long to dish out a new chapter D: This story has been sitting half written for months. I finally got to finishing it. I hope it was worth the wait! Also, to katiesmilesalot, I never envisioned Franky and Dean getting together as a couple. They're very much brother/sister family. They love each other, that's certainly true, but they love each other in a way that I don't think would ever translate well to romance. That's not to say that they haven't shared a kiss or two ;) But that's a story for another day. **

Dean went through a knight phase for a few months. He played at being a knight, making a wooden sword and even asking me to design him a crest to wear. I never did, I thought his play was stupid. I guess I should mention, for the sake of the telling, that I wasn't in the best foster home ever at the time. It made me more moody and withdrawn than I usually got with Dean. He didn't press because he knew that I'd shut him out even further, but I could see his anxiety grow as weeks passed and my behavior didn't improve.

One day in the playground Dean was practicing brandishing about his sword and I was doing my homework at an attempt to ignore the world. Dean kept trying to get my attention but I was ignoring him as best I could. But Dean was persistent. I was his only friend in the entire world and his only tether to sanity, so he _needed_ me. But I was in pain so I couldn't see it.

"May I beg a token from my lady, so that I may wear it in battle to strengthen my courage?"

I closed my eyes tightly and resisted the urge to immediately leave. Dean wouldn't have understood; to him leaving was worse than fighting or yelling. "I'm not your lady Dean, nor am I any sort of 'lady' at all."

"You would deny me your love upon the battlefield?" Dean asked in mock hurt.

I placed my homework on the deck and pulled my knees up to my chest. I wrapped my arms around my legs, pointedly ignoring his question. Most of the time Dean knew my signals as well as his own. But whether he pretended not to see or he somehow missed it this time he inched toward where I was sitting on the deck, a shy smile on his face. He put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Perhaps the Lady Francesca would bestow a kiss-"

Dean didn't get farther than that. Anxiety and anger battled it out in my gut, sending a painful tingle up my neck at the combination of the touch and the request, and the use of that _name_. I whirled and punched him straight in the nose. Not strong enough to make him bleed but enough to send him reeling back with a yelp of pain. There was real hurt on his face now. His hazel eyes were wide with shock.

"You are so fucking obsessed with that era, but neither of us would be what you talk about us being. I'm about as much a lady as a dog and you're no knight. You know what we would have been? Street urchins. Abandoned street urchins. Because that's basically what we are _today_. We steal, we run amok, we only spend as much time indoors as is _required_ of us. And people treat us like-" I bit down hard on my lip to stop the things- the things I didn't acknowledge- from pouring out of my mouth. Dean was frozen in horror as I lashed out.

I wasn't supposed to lash out. _Not__at__my__Dean._ Anyone but him was a fair target. But I owed Dean everything and he deserved exactly none of my rage. But I knew he was a safe target. He wouldn't hit me (hard), he wouldn't hate me, he loved me so unconditionally that I could do just about anything to him and he would take it with a blank face and without a sound.

And that's exactly what he did that day. He stood, grabbed his backpack and left without a word. His fake sword was abandoned on the deck. I started to cry, but not from guilt. I was just furious at everything. I didn't feel guilty until hours later. On the pirate ship all I felt was anger. Dean wasn't making it better for me. That was his damn job. He was failing me. It was only later I realized that Dean never failed me. He tried to be exactly what I needed, when I needed it. But he couldn't do it all the time, especially when I was closing myself to him.

When I left an hour later I picked up Dean's sword and threw it in the nearest trash bin.

Dean never mentioned it. And his knight faze abruptly ended.


	16. Day Trip

"So we're only…ten pound twenty away from two round trip train tickets to London," Dean proclaimed with a grin as he jangled his newly acquired cash in his fist. I narrowed my eyes and gave him a skeptical look. He'd been going on and on about a day in London for about a week now and he'd had us pick pocketing unsuspecting tourists for days around the train station. I hadn't asked yet but he hadn't just dropped the idea like I'd expected, so now I was curious.

"What do you want to do in London anyway? We don't know nothin' about it. Have you ever even left Oxford before?"

Dean pouted and protested, "I have done!"

"School trips don't count. We'll be on our own if we go. And I know we're self sufficient or whatever, but we _are_ only twelve. London's a big _expensive_ city."

Dean avoided my eyes and my suspicion grew. I elbowed him hard. "Dean! What are you hiding?"

"S'not any big deal!" He said defensively. I scowled and tapped my foot and he stuck out his bottom lip. "You're gonna make fun of me."

"Possibly. Probably. Stop being such a baby and spit it out already. I'll find out if we go you know. Better to get it out now."

Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his head before haltingly starting, "You know that time we were separated?"

"Of course. And what a year that was," I teased. Dean stuck out his tongue and I laughed.

"Anyway, I ended up in this one houses for quite a while. And the fosters were fine but the kids were pretty rough. Which is fine for vets like us. But a new kid came about a month in. Little kid, scrawny and specky, the type of kid the bully types _love_ to pick on. And I felt bad for the poor kid. His parents had just died and he didn't have any relatives. But more than feeling bad for him I really wanted an excuse to punch someone. So one day when some of the other kids were playing keep away with one of his belongings I decided to take his side." Dean laughed when I rolled my eyes and he took the break from his story to pull out a cigarette. He lit it before he continued, "It was a proper fight once the other kids realized I wasn't holding back. I got the piss beaten out of me bit I just kept laughing so they finally gave up and after that they stopped buggin' the kid so much. Anyway, this kid decided I was his fuckin' hero or something. He got scooped up pretty quick, but the little shit told his adopted parents about me and every holiday they send me a card and the last card had their phone number so-"

I started to laugh in disbelief. "The fuck? Are you serious? This isn't some joke? How come I've never seen one of these cards?"

"Threw 'em out. It's fucking weird man."

"So, what, they live in London?"

"Yeah, they moved there recently and gave me their number if I ever visit. I figure I should see if they'll actually come collect us, if not we'll just get to ride a train. Maybe explore. I bet the tourists in London carry way more cash on them and are even less prepared for pickpockets."

I grinned mischievously at Dean. "So what you're saying is that you have a secret fan club?"

"Fuck off!"

"No way mate. This I've gotta see."

Now that I knew what the goal actually was, I was almost more enthusiastic to get to London then Dean was. Dean was hoping he could take advantage of those people: I just wanted to see these crazy adults who idolized Dean of all people. I didn't give the kid a second thought.

We had to be careful to only take small amounts from each person so we didn't attract too much suspicion, plus we would continually put a few coins into our emergency fund, so it took another few days to get together the funds. We planned a Saturday to go, sorted out the foster parents (not actually telling them that we were going to London of course, just saying we'd be unreachable for the day, not that we usually were), and gathered extra money at my insistence so we'd have coin for phone calls and buses.

We got up early and were out the door before either of our families woke. I discovered I love and hate trains at the same time. When a cabin is mostly empty it's brilliant. I love the seats and the speed of it and looking outside. When it gets loaded I find that I quickly feel claustrophobic. Dean sat on the aisle so I wouldn't have a bunch of people brushing past me. I held my manikin up to the window so that he could get a good look too.

Dean didn't call the family before we arrived in London. He avoided rejection for as long as he could and tried to make circumstances harder for people to say no. We found a phone box and Dean called the number. I listened to Dean's end of the conversation, barely stifling giggles as he put on his best charming voice while simultaneously making faces at me. It surprised both of us when the woman at the end of the line enthusiastically agree to come meet us with her husband and Paul. I realized with a start that Dean had never mentioned the boy's name. _Paul_.

And suddenly I was hit with a wave of jealously.

It was irrational and stupid. After all, Dean didn't seem to even like the boy much and I _knew_ it was the Dean and Franky show 24/7 to him just as it was to me. But I'd never made another friend in the system. I hadn't let myself, hadn't wanted to, or the kids had been complete wankers. Dean wasn't _supposed_ to either. It was me and him. Dean couldn't have _more_ friends.

Could he?

We waited inside the station for a little over an hour and kept each other entertained by creating stories for all the passers by. I didn't know what Paul looked like so I had no idea what to expect. But Paul made it pretty easy to pick him out.

There was a sudden shout of "Dean!" from a few meters away and both of us looked up to see a blonde ball of pure energy shooting towards us. Paul slammed into Dean hard enough that they fell off the bench. Jealousy almost made me forget to put on my show face, but I had such practice that when two fresh-faced and eager looking adults speed walked up to is it fell naturally into place. I said hello politely and both adults nodded back. When their eyes landed on Dean they lit up and my stomach dropped. No adult looked at me like that. Like they were grateful for my very existence.

When Dean got to his feet and saw the way he was being looked at I could see the confusion and mistrust behind his eyes clear as day but he hid it from them with his own show face. Paul beamed at Dean and firmly held his hand. The ludicrous thought "That's _my_ hand to hold," crossed my mind. I tried to push it away. I got a good look at him for the first time. Dean's description was spot on. Scrawny with a pair of large glasses, sandy blonde hair, blue bulbous eyes and a healthy sprinkle of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He looked to be about two years younger than us.

"Dean, it's a pleasure to meet you finally," the woman said in a chipper voice. "You can call me Auntie Liz, and this is Uncle John." The look of disbelief on Dean's face almost quelled my own anxiety.

"And who might this lovely lady be?" 'Uncle' John said as he leaned toward me and put his hands on his knees. He gave me a wink and I felt like I was about to vomit.

"Don't be silly Uncle John!" Paul crowed loudly. "That's Franky, Dean's sister! It's brill to finally meet you!" And with that he launched himself at me too, wrapping his arms tight around my chest and whopping his head in gracefully against my breastplate. The sudden grab sent me over the edge. I hid it for as long as I could, enough time for Dean to pry him off me and for me to excuse myself to the toilet.

I stayed a few minutes in the corridor leading to the toilet with my back firmly pressed against the wall. I pulled myself together and steadied my breathing before immersing with my plastic mask in place. The Williamsons (they finally mentioned their surname), didn't seem to notice anything amiss. But Dean immediately disentangled himself from Paul's hold and came to stand by me possessively.

The jealousy all but disappeared.

As the Williamsons discussed where they were going to take us and busily started to herd us toward the Underground, I leaned against Dean's side and whispered, "Paul knew my name. Been talking to other people about me have you?"

"You're about the only thing I do talk about."

Warmth spread through me and I smiled. To ease the sting completely I said, "So you haven't been cheating on me then?"

Dean laughed and pulled me against him. "You jealous Lion?" I looked up at him. He had seen. His eyes were soft and without a word he was saying, 'Don't be daft. You're my only family. I love you best.'

_Good_.

They weren't terrible. Their attention and cheerful attitudes were a bit nauseating. And it always set our suspicion on red alert when adults were like that. But we relaxed as much as we could pretty quickly. They were unnerving, but they were nice people.

And they were _talkative_. As soon as we boarded the Underground Liz and John decided the best possible line of conversation would be to tell us everything that had happened in Paul's life since his adoption. Paul protested with a chuckle that Dean probably knew it all (I had to stop myself from exchanging a look with Dean because there was no doubt in my mind that Dean didn't know anything at all). When John said that I probably know much of it Paul confidently replied, "I bet she knows most of it cuz Dean'll have told her." I chanced a glance Dean's way and saw he could barely hide the dumbfounded look on his face, as if he was looking at an alien. I almost felt bad for Paul then.

The Williamsons proceeded to fill me in. They were lifelong friends of Paul's real parents and had been appointed Paul's legal guardians in their will because Paul had no other living relatives. A simple in and out of the foster system turned into a two month battle when someone misfiled something and sent Paul's case into limbo. Paul finally went home with them, but not before "those mean kids" made him a target and Dean stepped in on his behalf. In their reselling of the tale, Dean was there the second one of the bullies lifted a finger against Paul and Dean acted as Paul's personal bodyguard for forty days and forty nights, on the forty first day the white dove with the olive branch came to deliver Paul personally to John and Liz.

At least that's how they made it sound.

By the end Liz started to coo at me because I had teared up with what she must have thought was joy for them but what was really just tears from holding in laughter. Dean looked about ready to throttle me.

The rest of the story wasn't that interesting. All they did was talk about Paul's straight A's and junior football team and a bunch of other boring everyday junk that neither Dean nor I had any experience with. We both just smiled and nodded indulgently.

Then Lis said, "So, brother and sister? Did you get separated and that's why Paul didn't meet Franky until today?"

"Well-" Dean began and a huge grin spread across my face at his tone of voice. Cue story time. Because the truth that I was ditched one day after preschool and that social services was called after the fifth time a three-year-old Dean 'fell down the stairs' and we met as two broken kids in the system was far too depressing.

"We were separated because the two of us are heirs to an incredible fortune as soon as we turn eighteen, and we're most recognizable together-"

"That's why my hair's short, you'd definitely know me if it was longer and I was wearing proper clothing," I added with a straight face.

"Exactly. And they dye my hair every few weeks."

"Plus your nose job-"

"Plus _your_ chin job!"

"-retina dye-"

"-shortening your femurs-"

"-making your neck longer-"

"-getting rid of your hump-"

"-sex change!"

We almost couldn't control ourselves and the other passengers were starting to stare. The Williamsons had matching plastered on grins, completely unsure what was happening, except Paul who was hanging on our every word.

Dean cleared his throat. "Anyway, this way if one of us is kidnapped the entire fortune doesn't get stolen-"

"Not that I wouldn't pay the whole fortune to rescue you!" I said dramatically.

"And I'd to the same beautiful sister!" Dean intoned, grasping my hands in his and willing tears into his eyes.

"We were together for a while, but someone made an attempt on our lives," I said to the Williamsons' solemnly. "They wanted our fortune to get in its entirety to the Crown."

"But I fended them off with a frying pan!"

"And I lit the man's coattails on fire."

Dean mouthed the word 'coattails' at me and I hit my touching forefinger and thumb against my others, mimicking striking a flint. Dean's eyes danced merrily as he picked up the story, "He was dressed like a butler-"

"He _was_ our former butler!"

"Can you believe that? Loyalty these days!"

The Williamsons were still startled by our fanatical tale weaving but they were being more patient than expected. Paul looked as if he was in love.

"So we had to be split up," I said with a forlorn sigh. "But you'd recognize our mum."

"Not our dad though-"

"Maybe our cousin-"

"Oh no, definitely our cousin. He has that show."

"The one with all those celebrities or the one we're not allowed to watch yet?"

"Celebs for Liz. Other one for John maybe. Or both of them, who are we to judge-"

"OK! That's a very colorful past you two have," John interrupted quickly. Dean and I smiled innocently.

Wisely they didn't ask us any more questions, which as the whole point of story time. Don't ask questions, we won't lie.

They took us to Hamley's. If you don't know what that is, it's the biggest toy store in all of London. It's _huge_. And completely unrelated to either my or Dean's interest. But it's the thought that counts. They didn't ask where we wanted to go and I guess the fact that they thought of us as normal kids was nice of them. And Hamley's has _some_ art supplies, kind of, but mostly just little kid stuff so none of it struck my fancy.

What _did_ catch our attention was the candy store on the first floor. There was both prepackaged sweets and a Pik-N-Mix style area. With permission from Liz and John we ran to grab bags that we could fill from the bins.

As removed as we tried to be from the activities of other kids, who _doesn't_ love candy?

The Williamsons let us pile the candy as high as we could while still bing able to get a tie around the top of the bag. I could see uncertainty on Liz's face as John paid for the candy and elbowed Dean to say in a low voice, "She's second guessing the sugar rush."

"But is unable to call any parents to see if it's alright," Dean whispered back. I laughed. Being parentless had its advantages. Liz could have asked for our fosters contact info obviously, but loads of people think it's an awkward subject to bring up. 'What's the number to contact those adults you're living with temporarily?' There wasn't exactly a social etiquette established. And in this instance it worked entirely in our favor.

They ended up buying us toys they thought we'd like anyway. Paul took great pride in having picked them out. Dean got some sort of robot. I got a doll. They would be destroyed by the younger kids we lived with in seconds. But Dean and I politely accepted and expressed gratitude.

They took us to tourist-y hot spots after that. We did the obligatory palace visit and heckled the Queen's guard. Saw Big Ben and almost rode the London Eye (Paul was scared of heights and tried to put on a brave face but began to cry halfway through the line). We packed a lot in. Then they delivered us safely back to Paddington. There were tearful goodbyes on their side and promises made we didn't trust for a second. Paul almost refused to let go of Dean and held onto him for minutes.

On the train ride home Dean said, "Don't think I ever need to do that again?"

I sucked on a lolly and nodded. It took a lot of energy to pretend to be interested all day long.


	17. Horcruxes

I calmed down a lot after being adopted by Geoff&Jeff. Dean thought I got lamer. I thought I got saner (this, of course, is debatable). But I still had my triggers. And since I was calmer and tried hard not to be so wild as I had been, when a berserk button was hit the reaction was twice as powerful.

One Friday in fall Dean and I were enjoying ice creams and walking toward the pirate ship when we were stopped by three boys. They were our age and dressed in sharp school uniforms. They had been sitting on a stone wall but upon seeing us hopped off and blocked our path. We'd never seen them in this area before. They fancied themselves tough shit and seemed to be trying to make some sort of claim. Even though Dean's tall, he isn't muscular looking and I'm not the most imposing person in the world. If it had been me alone I would have fled. But my confidence always went up as high as it could when I was with Dean, so I was not afraid.

"Oi, you supposed to be a girl?" The one on the right started up.

I had to laugh at that. "It's good to know they're getting more and more original."

Dean didn't like it much when they laid in on me first, but since I was the more obvious target I always had to give the signal that my feelings weren't in danger of being hurt. Dean was my safety blanket and with him by my side insults slid off me like water for the most part.

It was when I didn't have him that they tended to stick.

"She supposed to be your girlfriend? Is a dyke the best you could do then?"

"Why? Trying to pick me up?" Dean said in a low purr and he made a kissing noise in the bullies direction. The boy gave a grunt of disgust and looked at his friends to make sure they heard. Honestly, any question about a bullies heterosexuality made them flip their shit. It was funny to watch. Now the middle one and the one on the right were plenty pissed. They approached in what they thought was a menacing way. I just watched them come with a bored look on my face and Dean had that glint in his eye as he smirked down at them.

"Give us your money."

"_That's_ how you're gonna do it?"

"No style at all," I said with a fake forlorn sigh.

"I've seen more threatening Scottie dogs to be quite honest."

The one in the middle clenched his fists and bared his teeth at us. I took a lick of my ice cream and looked down at it with interest. But I never let him out of my peripheral vision, because as sure of myself as I was I knew not to lose sight of him.

"Give us your fucking money or you'll regret it! We ain't afraid to beat on at girl!"

"'You'll regret it'? This is getting worse and worse lads."

"And you'd be surprised I bet how many people aren't afraid to hit girls," I said with a sneer. "I could lay any one of you out if I got it in my mind too. You're lucky I'm retired."

"I'm _not_ retired by the way," Dean supplied with a happy half-jump, landing on the balls of his feet.

"You lay us out?" The one on the right scoffed disbelievingly. "In your dreams bitch." the boys started to come toward us again and they looked pretty determined to start something. Dean sniffed at the air and made a face.

"All I smell is posh boy Franks. No threat detected."

The one on the left looked nervous. At least he seemed aware of the fact that street smarts came off us in waves. They were just about the least threatening thing we'd ever encountered. But the other two boys were drenched with cockiness and couldn't seem to tell they were in over their heads.

We were a bit overconfident.

One of the boys rushed forward and yanked my bag from my shoulder. All my nerves went on alert. Dean fell into a fighting stance and I warned in a low voice, "Give it back kid, you are not in any way ready to deal with this." The boys just laughed and began to riffle through my stuff. He cackled and pulled out my manikin by one of his legs, saying, "What the fuck is-"

And that's when I had a Dean worthy blackout.

Next thing I remember I was on my knees, one hand lifting me off the pavement and the other clutching my manikin fiercely against my chest. I blinked back to myself in surprise, then in a rush of panic pulled my little wooden figurine from my chest so that I could examine him for any damage. He was fine in appearance but I still meticulously checked his every joint and screw. All was well. I relaxed in relief.

Only then did I notice the red under my fingernails.

And I was it with a wave of pain. Every inch of me ached and I could feel my heartbeat hot and urgent in one of my cheeks and a few other places all over my anatomy.

"Glad you finally woke up."

I turned to see Dean leaning against the wall the boys had been sitting on. He held a spliff loosely in his fingers and he beamed at me so I could tell his statement was in no way sarcastic. He came to sit down next to me and he reached over to give my manikin an affectionate rap on the head with his knuckles. "Little guy in one piece?" I nodded. Before I even needed to ask Dean started to tell me what happened. "You went manic Franks! It was truly impressive. Launched yourself at the wanker with abandon. Guy now has scratches all over his face. I mean you got _this_ close to clawing his eyes out, it was _wicked_." Dean's eyes sparkled feverishly in that way they sometimes do when he gets an adrenaline fix. "One of his mates tried to jump in which was like, perfect for me, so I ended up wailing on that pathetic little ponce. But then you got your doll and decided the best possible thing to do would be to curl yourself around it on the ground." I winced. So 'blackout me' was an idiot. Dean chuckled and ruffled my hair as if to say 'don't worry about it' and said, "So the dickhead started kickin' you which was _not_ acceptable, so I pulled out my knife and they ran like cunts."

When he finished he pulled out his flask and passed it to me. I took it and hungrily gulped dawn as much as I could stomach in one go. After the burning died down I started to feel less pain which was nice, but I figured I probably looked a wreck and moaned, "My dads are going to _kill_ me."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Not in a million years. Geoff&Jeff think the sun rises and sets with you. Even if there's initial anger it'll turn into attempted hugs and pastries in about thirty seconds."

The fact that what Dean said was true still confused me. What did my dads see in me? I was such a fuck up. I was always so paranoid they'd send me _back_, abandon me like my biological mum and dad had, but they never got too mad at me and there were always whiskey kisses and cups of tea waiting for me. And I felt sad that Dean still didn't have that, he didn't seem to mind, but it wasn't as if he _knew_ what it was really like.

We got out of the street and went to sit where the boys had been on the wall. Dean informed me that id been in the street crouched into myself for a good fifteen minutes, "I was getting so bored Lion," he told me, but without a hint of actual annoyance. Dean never really got impatient with me. The thought that it was Dean and not my dads that believed I was absolutely perfect crossed my mind for the millionth time since I'd been adopted. But it was always like that, it had been since we met all those years ago.

We settled on the wall and I seated my manikin safely between the two of us. Dean looked at him for a long moment before asking, "What's with you and him anyway?"

It was like I'd been waiting for that question from him since we were eight. I'd been asking about him in different ways, from "Why do you carry that creepy thing?" to "What is it?" to "Ew, get it away" to "Why don't you leave it home love?" to "I'm sure he'd like to say here and protect all your belongings while you're at school". I would never have trusted leaving him at a foster house though, but even now he stayed with me. My dads, like Dean, never asked, but unlike Dean I could sometimes see the question in their eyes. Since it never really effected Dean he hadn't ever cared to ask, content with me having a handful of eccentricities. But how he was curious. Seven years after meeting.

"You never said. Except that one time when we we're drunk you said-"

"'He is me and I am him'?"

Dean nodded. I vaguely remembered that.

I'd thought about how to answer the question. But only a few years ago had I been presented with a perfect comparison. "Did you ever read Harry Potter all the way through?"

Dean didn't ask me why I had seemingly changed the subject. He knew this had to be related. "No. Reading is sorta low on the priority list. I didn't even know _you_ had."

"Never had much to do at school during lunch."

"Oh yeah. That's when I'm dealing."

I elbowed him, reminding him that I wanted him out of dealing. Then I continued, "Well in the last book, technically in the sixth but really important in the seventh, you find out the reason that the bad guy can seemingly survive anything is cuz he's made these things called horcruxes, which are basically objects where he's put pieces of his soul. So that even if he's hurt bad he'll be fine if his horcruxes are fine."

"So your little dude is like that."

"Mhmm. I don't think I _meant_ to put a bit of my soul into him. It was an accident, sort of a survival technique. I can go away into my head when I'm scared or something bad is happening, but if he's hidden away and safe I can always come back."

"Hmm," Dean hummed thoughtfully as he gave my manikin's little head a stroke. "Makes sense."

"Does it?"

"Yeah. Kinda useful really."

"Except when I feel like he's in danger apparently."

Dean laughed at this. "You should probably fix that."

"I'll get on it."

"So do you have others?"

I chewed my lip. "None as strong as him. But little ones where my soul has kind of accidentally bled out some more. I guess the next biggest one is the town I made for him that's in my room. I put a lot of time and effort into making a perfect little world for him. And I think I hid a bit of my soul in there now because I know it'll be save with Geoff&Jeff." I felt like I was forgetting something.

"Can people be whore-whatsits?"

"Hor-cruxes. And they aren't supposed to be, I guess because every person has their own soul anyway and adding another piece might be too much, plus if they're living their own life and get killed it isn't good for the main person, but in Harry Potter a human horcrux was made on accident, so it's possible."

"OK then. You're my horcrux Franky."

I felt a wave of love for Dean as he watched me with devoted eyes. That's what I'd been forgetting. If a piece of his soul was in me then a piece of mine was most certainly in him. Like we'd exchanged pieces the exact same shape and size so that they'd fit flawlessly in each other and not cause any sort of discomfort. I could tell he was doing that thing where he could read my thoughts because he was smirking from ear to ear, so all I said was, "You are _so_ corny."

"Protect my soul Franky! Protect it with your very _life_."

"Wanker."

"You loooove me."

"Like I ever couldn't."

Dean leaned his head against my shoulder, ending up practically horizontal because of the height difference. Even if it should have felt awkward it didn't. He was my Dean and I was his Franky. Even if he climbed into my lap and curled up like a huge puppy, he could never feel wrong to me.

And all the pieces of my soul were happy.


	18. Sarah

**Note: Long ass author's note at the end of this chapter. You don't have to read it. I just wrote it because I wanted to. You can just as easily skip it.**

Don't get it into your head that we were _nice_.

We weren't. There's a wide spectrum between nice and mean and when we were younger Dean and I were about in the middle as neutral with frequent visits to the meaner side. Because more than anything we were _defensive_. It's honestly hard to find genuinely nice people like Grace and Alo. More often you end up with a bunch of people like Mini or worse. Mini's like, on the better end cuz she mostly _puts on_ her meanness every morning like it's an accessory. Some people are mean all the way through.

As Mini used to wear her mean crown, we wore our mean bullet proof vests (and if we're gonna go all the way with this metaphor, Dean probably had some mean brass knuckles too: with smilie faces on the ends).

So don't paint me as some sweet-as-pie innocent little girl or some shit. I was more fuckup than innocent and I had my very own bitch moments.

There was this girl named Sarah.

She was a foster kid too. One of the pleasant ones that the adults _love_. She'd been in her home for years now and if her fosters ever got the chance they'd adopt her in a heartbeat. Which seemed _stupid_ to me, I mean honestly who wanted to be _adopted_ anymore. I was near thirteen and a few months from meeting Geoff&Jeff, and I was a bitter and biting teenager. That was my worst year attitude-wise. I used drugs as much as I could and tried to keep a constant buzz. I was so angry. But that anger went mostly inside because I was still quiet and vaguely fearful of everyone around me.

Sarah was fourteen but in my grade. I didn't care enough to learn what the story was there. Sarah took a liking to me for some reason. She would talk to me constantly when we were at the house and every attempt to avoid or ignore her seemed to go straight over her head. She infuriated me. Who was this girl to be so _nice_ and chatty and _so_ obnoxious? What was she playing at? What did she want?

Every day I would complain to Dean about Sarah and he would laugh at the right moments and contribute to my scoffs. He commiserated with me when he didn't even know her because I was his Franky and he would always take my side. It lead me to believe that I was entirely in the right about my attitude toward her. She was both "too sweet" and a "conniving bitch", she was my target of scorn. But I was never outright mean to her. I never said anything. I just ignored her when I was around her and mocked her constantly when I was with Dean. She was somehow the worst person I had ever known in my mind, even though she was in reality nowhere near worthy of the title.

I was jealous of her.

She was so "well adjusted". There was _no way_ she'd ever been left in the hands of bad fosters, she'd never have such a sunny disposition if she had been. _We_ were well adjusted. We'd been through hell and back, _obviously_ she hadn't. It made my blood boil.

Sarah kept trying to set up ways for us to hang out after school. Mostly I would say that I was busy, but sometimes I would agree to go to them to get her to stop asking and then ditch the actual activity. She was never _daunted_. When I would miss her activity she would just smile at me the next time she saw me and say, "We'll try again soon!" as if the reason we couldn't do it wasn't caused by my unwillingness and had been caused by some outside source.

One day she followed me after school. I thought I had shaken her and made my way to the pirate ship, hopping up onto the deck were Dean was already waiting with a bottle of vodka and a new pill bag full of MDMA. I held out my palm to take a pill when suddenly feet landed on our deck and Sarah's voice enthusiastically chirped, "Wow, is this where you come everyday?" I immediately snatched my hand back to my side and spun to look at her feeling guilty and angry all in one. Dean tilted his head and his eyes narrowed into feral slits. Out of the corner of my eye I could see his lips part to bare his teeth like a predator, but to most people it would just look like a wide grin. Her presence was alarming. No one came onto our deck, the kids of the neighborhood had learned to steer clear years ago. It was _our_ space. This was an invasion. This was an offensive attack.

Sarah didn't seem to notice our fury and plopped down on the deck, beaming at the both of us. "Who's this?"

My nostrils flared and I glared at her. Dean was mine, she didn't deserve to know who he was. Before I could say anything Dean slid forward swift as a panther and stuck out his hand, still wearing the dangerous grin. "I'm Dean. Franky's brother."

Sarah looked pleased and took his hand. Dean grabbed it. I saw his nails dig in and his knuckles whiten as instead of shaking he squeezed as hard as he could. Sarah let out a startled squeak and I cackled away. She turned startled eyes toward me but all I felt was glee at her discomfort. 'That'll teach her to be so _happy_ all the fucking time.'

Dean let go and returned to my side. We stayed standing and stood over Sarah who now had a look of slight unease on her face. She was trying to reconcile her made-up image of me as a person with this girl laughing at her pain and looking at her with cold, cruel eyes. Dean shook out a pill and I popped it. Slowly the edge went off of everything in the world and I practically melted to the deck. The shadows in my mind retreated further in for a time. Life was more tolerable.

Dean and I ignored Sarah, who sat quiet and nervous a few meters away from us. Dean and I don't have a secret language per say, but people often don't understand our conversations because we complete one another's thoughts in our head quite often and will move on to a new subject without seeming to finish the first one. I can imagine that it's fairly frustrating to listen to us. I took enjoyment from Sarah's confusion but it seemed like less of an _issue_ now that drugs were making me feel mellow with manufactured happiness.

At some point it went from light to dark and Sarah was nudging me with an anxious expression on her face. "Franky we should go home now. It's late and i-it's dangerous after dark."

"'It's dangerous after dark'," I mimicked, then had a giggle fit and rolled so my back was to her. Dean laughed next to me, then lazily raised his middle finger toward Sarah.

"Fuck off back to the safety of your mummy's kitchen bitch. Franks don't have a home," Dean drawled. I found this incredibly funny as well and continued to laugh breathlessly. I chanced a look back at her. Sarah's face was drawn and frightened. Conflicting feelings of guilt and satisfaction battled it out in my gut, but I was comfortable where I was and Sarah wasn't making me leave.

"Come on Franky," Sarah pleaded with me. I could see her eyes start to moisten and anger tried to kick back in but the MDMA stifled it back down and I felt a pang of empathy for her. After all, it wasn't as if she knew what she had been getting in to. But she did follow me without my permission. Why was it now my responsibility to _babysit_ her? Her _mum and dad_ could do that.

Sarah tried pulling at my sleeve but I tugged away and rolled into Dean, who grabbed me into an embrace and made a raspberry noise at Sarah. "Can't take her from _me_, never ever," he grumbled against my scalp, more to himself and maybe me than to Sarah. This declaration made me giddy and I kissed wherever I could reach on Dean, which ended up being right where the fabric of his t-shirt met his neck. Sarah made a squeak of shock and pulled me away from Dean.

"I did _not_ think you were that type of girl."

The implication made my heart skip a beat. I was _not_ that type of girl. _Not not __**not**__._ I tried to tug away from her again but she had a grip on my shirt and was hauling me to my feet. I squirmed but she held on and in a quivering voice started, "You are going to take me home right this instant! Honestly you should be grateful I'm not a tattle tale! Rose and Harold would be furious with you and ground you for a month." Dean started to choke with laughter on the pirate deck floor.

"Fuck off!" I grumbled unhappily as she tried to pull me towards the side of the ship. She huffed indignantly. Disappointment was radiating off her. And it was annoying me. What had she expected? Docile mute Franky from school? I didn't even look at her much less talk to her. Why had she expected more from Franky-Fuckup?

She pulled one time too many and reflex kicked in. I _hated_ being touched by anyone but Dean and had learned how to get people off me if I could. Sarah was a soft, nice, normal kid, not in any way prepared for my sharp elbow to her solar plexus. She let out a wheeze of surprise and, tipping backward, fell off the ship to the sand below.

Dean's laughter turned to raucous roars.

I knelt down on the deck and crossed my arms over the side of the boat, resting my chin on one of my forearms. Sarah lay on her back on the ground. She gasped desperately like a fish out of water. I recognized the redness of her face, the way her hand fluttered to her throat in confusion and fear. The wind had been knocked out of her. It was an unpleasant experience. The first time it happened, hell anytime it did, you became afraid for your life. Convinced that your lungs won't get oxygen in time and you'll die gasping. But there was nothing for Sarah to do but ride it out. I couldn't help her even if I wanted. So I just watched her over the side of the ship, listening to Dean's fit of cackling start to quiet behind me.

Sarah finally recovered. She stood shakily and glared at me with such hatred I almost cowered away. She lifted her chin up proudly and said in a cold voice, "I would have been your friend."

I just stared back at her.

She left. I lay back down on the deck. Dean crawled over and put his head by my feet. He grabbed my hand. After a few minutes he mumbled, "Wonder what she wanted."

"Dunno."

Sarah never spoke to me again.

**Author's Note: I feel like I have to explain a few things about Franky and Dean and the way that I write them. For lack of a better word, Franky and Dean are paranoid. Here are some facts. It's not unreasonable for them to be. When they were younger they were in some shit places. Maybe even evil places. They've both been abused in many ways, no beating around the bush. But if I were to give an estimation of how often that occurred, it would be like a two out of ten scenario. Which is too much obviously. Franky has grown to believe that every new house is a new danger. So she never ever trusts _anyone_ during her life as a foster kid. To the extent that her and Dean have a rule about it. So even if a person is nice or tries with them, both Franky and Dean ignore, rebuff and are even mean to the person trying. There are few exceptions.**

**Franky is critical and cynical about every family she ever stayed with. For example, the house I wrote about where Franky and Dean met was actually pretty good. When Dean is moved Franky makes a comment along the lines of, "they didn't want him hurting any more kids (or the rest of their plates)". The entire story is told from Franky's point of view so we never know if that's the absolute truth of it. The fosters could have been genuinely fearful of the safety of the other children. But to Franky the truth of it was that they made him leave to save their belongings and since it's her pov it's said with certainty. The thing about having a first person narrative is that what the narrator says is only their version of events. I like to play with that with Franky. But I've started to worry that since people see events through her jadedness people will start to think that every person Franky and Dean has ever met is a terrible, awful, neglectful abusive person. The truth is that the vast majority of people they meet are just normal people with good and bad attached to all of them. (note: this isn't counting the kids. Kids are heartless little beasts to each other)**

**Franky and Dean were troublemakers. When they were tweens and young teenagers they reveled in this fact. They loved giving people they perceived as enemies hell. And since they saw everyone as enemies they had a lot of targets. They weren't _bullies_. They were disobedient with adults and ignored people their own age. If someone attacked them first they were all for revenge though. This isn't to say they're _bad kids_. I happen to think Franky and Dean are awesome, but I would have to classify myself as biased.**

**Franky made the biggest exception of her life when she met Jeff and Geoff. Call it destiny maybe. I think she was floored by the fact that someone showed actual interest in her that wasn't in any way paid to do so. When she started to get to know them she started to open up her heart. Even when it was closed off Franky was the more forgiving of her and Dean. So after she moved in with Jeff and Geoff and started to feel safe in at least _one_ place she started to not follow the rule of not trusting people as closely as she did. And when she got to Bristol at first she wasn't going to trust Mini and co, but she talked it over with her manikin (aka, with herself) and decided "New start yeah? New start", and she decided to trust.**

**When she did that she sort of started to overcompensate. She opened her heart so wide that she forgave Mini quickly and basically gave her new friends anything and everything she possibly could. It's like she can't find a happy medium between being shut off and being the most giving and loving person she can be. She just wants the people that she has to _stay_ and she doesn't want to give them an excuse to not _need_ her anymore.**

**And that is how I write them.**


	19. Kisses

**I debated about posting this one because I'm making some big assumptions here. But this is my headcanon so I'm going to post it. Hope you enjoy.**

**Trigger warning: abuse.**

I kiss Dean all the time: cheek, shoulder, chastely on the kips. They're all friend kisses. But I have tried three times to have more-than-friend kisses with him.

The first was when we were eleven. We were on the pirate deck and I purposefully knelt in front of him and kissed him hard on the lips, interrupting him mid-sentence. When I pulled away he picked up his sentence right where he'd left off. I didn't know what to d next, so I just sat down next to him and pretended I hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. But for days after I wondered if I had somehow done it wrong.

The second time was the day after his fourteenth birthday. I'd given him his official birthday present the day before (odds and ends of everything I could get my hands on, including a knit sweater, a bunch of stolen CDs, a spliff and a packet of pills), but the next day announced I had another present to give him. This time I wrapped my arms around his neck, standing awkwardly on my tip toes, and kissed him fiercely on his lips. I tried to coax his mouth open with my tongue but he kept his lips firmly closed against me. This time when I leaned back Dean stared at me with a strange look in his eye. He pursed his lips and looked away from me, then said with a nervous laugh, "I liked your other presents better." I was so furious at him that I didn't meet up with him for two days.

The last time I tried we were fifteen. That time I was determined to get him to respond. I started similar to the first time by kneeling in front of him and kissing him. When he tried to lean away from me a surge of anger made me knot my fists into the front of his t-shirt and pulled him back. I vehemently attacked his lips with mine and when he didn't respond I bit his lip until I tasted blood. My brain screamed at me: _control get control control __**mine**__._

Finally Dean grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me back. We glared at each other furiously and he wiped his arm across his bleeding bottom lip. "The fuck Franky?"

"What, am I not good enough for you?" I snapped ferociously.

"You bitch. Fucking pull yourself together!"

"You sleep with _anyone_. What's so wrong with me? You're mine for fuck's sake!"

"Course I'm yours! But not like this. In every way but this."

"Why? Why not this too? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with _you_?"

"Crazy bitch!"

I slapped him.

He slapped me right back.

I launched myself at him, fists flying. We had the most violent fight we ever had then. No holding back. Adrenaline kept us from feeling the pain for a while and we only pulled away when we had exhausted ourselves. I had a black eye and a split lip and bruises all over. Dean was bleeding steadily from his nose and various scratches on his face and arms and he held his side in pain. I was too proud to hold my arm as it throbbed at my side but avoided flexing my fingers.

We glared daggers at each other, breathing heavily. Neither of us could speak for a minute. Finally Dean gave me a crooked grin and said, "Did you notice that was more sexually charged than that godawful kiss?"

I blinked in astonishment then started to laugh hysterically. We both dissolved into a fit of laughter.

From laughter I went into sobs.

Dean let me get the hysterical crying out of my system for a while and when I began to calm down he came and wrapped me safely into a hug.

"There's something wrong with me," I said into his shirt.

"Maybe," he replied honestly. "Me too."

"What are we?"

"Family," he said simply.

"Are you sure? I- I feel like I can't live without you. Like I need you to survive. You're half of me. That's not family. That's not _normal_ family."

"Horcruxes."

"_Dean_…"

"Soul mates then."

"Doesn't that _mean_ romantic?"

Dean tilted my chin up so I could look into his eyes. "Franky, did you feel _anything_ those times you tried to kiss me?"

"I felt safe."

"We always feel safe together you loon. Anything _else_?"

"Um, possessive?"

Dean let out a loud laugh at this. He nodded his head. "But that's not romantic. That's just our brand of crazy. Anything else?"

"…no."

"There you go then."

"It's _confusing_."

"Not unless you think too hard about it."

"That's true. Normally I don't even think about it. You're you and I'm me."

"And we belong together. That means if we ever find a romantic partner, another soul mate, we'll just have to live next door to each other." He winked and I laughed.

"So my little Lion, why were you so desperate for kisses?"

I stiffened against him. He pet my hair encouragingly and I finally stammered, "I'm afraid…that I'm somehow broken. And I was trying to make myself feel it with you. Because I don't. I don't feel it Dean. I've gotten crushes but the thought of anything physical makes me sick. I wanted to change that."

Dean was quiet for a long while. And then quietly he said, "Are you trying to take it back? All that stolen stuff."

My stomach rolled because I knew he was talking about what we never talked about. And I didn't _want_ to. But he was the only person I could ever sort this out with. So I took a shaky breath and said, "Yes."

"They fucked us up for life."

My thoughts flashed to creaking floorboards and a bed too big for a child and I choked out a, "Yeah." My fingernails dug into Dean's arm. He didn't say anything about it. Dean kissed the side of my face. It felt good, so indescribably good, to know that no matter what Dean loved me. In a way that I _needed_ to be loved. He pried one of my hands loose from his arm and laced his fingers through mine, saying, "You'll feel it when you feel it. The right person will see past your clothing shield and your stutter and will make you feel it. But don't hate yourself if you can't get physical right away."

"You're lucky you can have sex without freaking."

Dean laughed bitterly. "Yeah, having sex so I don't have to pay for my drugs is so healthy. Not saying I hate it, but I'm glad that's not _you_. I would kill anyone who laid a hand on you. Then it'd be harder to get drugs."

I gave him a sad smile. "Aren't we a pair?"

"We're like the fucking poster children of sexual abuse."

I averted my eyes and started to bite my lip hard and Dean took the cue. We were done with that line of conversation.

"Fucking hell, my dad's will go nuts when they see me. This is like the fifth time in three months I'll come home looking like I'm in some sort of fight club."

"I guess now's one of those times you being a good liar comes in handy."

"…I wish I was a better liar. I wish I could lie to myself."

"I'm glad you can't. Love you my little lion Franky."

"Love you too, Dean."


End file.
